“Get off me. It’s not you I’m here for.”
And, there it was.
“Tony, leave us alone.”
The man looked aghast. “Sir?”
“I’ve got this.”
Marston sighed and slumped into a chair. Tony, seeing Marston was drunk and likely harmless, turned away. He wasn’t in any danger from Marston. Knowing Tony, he’d frisked the man, seeking weapons, before letting him step foot inside.
He took the chair opposite him. This was beyond strange. “Marston, why don’t you just come out with it?”
Was he really going to take this man’s confession? He’d reformed people in the past, but a Wynter? Some part of him—likely the part fueled by the goodness of spending so much time with Rebecca and Eric—trumped the part that wanted to throw his ass outside and down the stone steps into the snow.
“Charles wasn’t Alice and Raymond’s only gay son.” Marston’s head hit the wall behind him.
“I know.” Because now he did know. He rose, and he had no idea why he was about to do what he was about to do. Then again, he did. He didn’t throw people out on the street who had nowhere to go, the dead opposite of the Wynter family protocol.
Alexander pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tony is going to come back in here. He’s going to show you to a room where you’re going to sleep this off. Christmas lunch is at noon.”
Alexander got out of there as fast as he could. He had better things to do on Christmas Eve than spend another second in Marston Wynter’s presence. But he wasn’t cruel. He would never, ever be like them, and he’d prove it.
51
Alexander delivered the news that Marston was spending the night at Accendos to Rebecca and Eric. Her acknowledging smile was worth the strange turn in events. Eric was less enthusiastic but wisely didn’t question the why behind his sudden change of heart. He wasn’t sure himself, though he supposed the holidays were making him sentimental. They would discuss this latest Marston development later—much later. He had other ideas for tonight.
He held out his elbow. “Ready for your Christmas present?”
“Oh, goody, presents.”
Eric took her other arm and laughed. “You are such a princess.”
“But I’m your princess.” She hung on to both men as they made their way to the circular stairway leading up to the gallery. “I rather like two men vying for my attention.”
Alexander winked at her. “Of course you do.”
As they climbed the stairs, Eric held her long train, the midnight blue fabric embroidered with tiny gold stars. Alexander kept a hold of her hand. With each slow step, he let his gaze occasionally drift over the scene below. People milled about or swung each other on the dance floor. He made a point of picking out the Tribunal Council members, the people closest to him of all the friends wandering about.
Sarah laughed at something Laurent said, as Steffan rested his head on her shoulder, eyes alight on his best friend. Jonathan, with Christiana’s back banded to his front, swayed back and forth in time with the music. Derek and Samantha swept over the dance floor, earning applause and exclamations at their dance moves. In the farthest, darkest corner, he could make out Marcos cupping Isabella’s chin, whispering to her, earning a shy smile. Carson had London on his lap on a couch. Ryan and Yvette clinked champagne flutes. The man’s eyes couldn’t have been torn away from his wife’s face. Alexander had built this place for them, and it was his greatest privilege that they shared it with him. If he thought about it, his life’s work was embodied not by the splendid architecture and award-winning gardens of his estate but by the people who inhabited it and considered it a place of refuge, a safe haven.
His nostalgia broke when Rebecca giggled at getting her dress caught for the tenth time on the railing support.
“Gah. Such a princess,” Eric laughed.
Once freed, he tugged Rebecca by the hand across the gallery, and the three of them stepped through the low door into the Master’s Private Library.
Rebecca gasped and clapped her hands. A fire already crackled in the fireplace, two leather chairs pointed toward the flames with a small footstool placed between them.
A small Christmas tree stood in the corner lit with tiny white lights that illuminated the old-fashioned tinsel, candy canes and hand-crafted ornaments Rebecca had admired at a Christmas fair they’d visited the other day. It was the damndest thing, but walking around the crowded street fair watching Rebecca squeal over crocheted snowflakes and wax-dipped pine cones had been the best moment of his week.
Her gown whispered over the hardwood floor as she skipped to the tree. She fingered a tiny nutcracker made of hand-carved wood. “You bought them.” Her gray eyes beamed love at him.
His heart pressed against his ribs, and he had to take a long inhale before sentimentality overtook him and prevented speech. “For you? Anything.”
Rebecca threw her arms around him. “Thank you.”
“I’m trying to … simplify.”
“It’s—” she glanced around “—perfect.” And, understated when compared to his previous Christmas décor. Hell, not like him at all.
“Smells like a pine forest in here.” Eric laughed.
Alexander had asked his decorating team to string only natural garlands of pine, holly, and juniper along the mantle, windows, and paintings, in this room. Rebecca wanted simple, well, this was as close as he could get. His decorating team had eyed him like he’d been replaced by an alien, but they eventually understood and appeared quite relieved when they’d been given freer rein in other parts of the house.
He gestured for Eric to take a seat in one of the chairs. Rebecca lowered herself to the embroidered footstool, her dress pooling around her, creating a lake of blue and gold between them. He had to chuckle at their faces. Like kids on Christmas morning.
Alexander retrieved two boxes from under the tree. “I decided we needed privacy for this.” He handed Rebecca and Eric a long white box tied with a green ribbon.
She took hers, hesitantly. “Hey, did you go over the fifty dollars we agreed upon?” Her eyebrows lifted.
“I did.” He settled himself into the chair.
“Good, because so did I.” She freed the ribbon and lifted the box top. After cracking open the long, black velvet box inside, her lips parted and her cheeks pinkened. Yes, that’s exactly the face he’d been going for with this gift.
“Oh, Alexander. I … ” Her lashes, wet with the threat of tears, lifted to reveal her pale gray eyes. Even better, she’d lost her words.
His ego inflated a little at her awe at the piece he’d had designed. A crescent moon of moonstones hung from a platinum chain, and intermittent, diamond-encrusted stars linked every inch of its length.
“So you’ll never have to search for the stars.” His description was a tad theatrical, but it was Christmas Eve, a time for over-the-top emotions.
She rose up on her knees and crushed her lips to his. “Thank you,” she said into his mouth.
“I think she likes it,” Eric said.
She eased back down and grasped the Eric’s hand, as well as his. “I love it.” She then quickly twisted at the waist and lifted her hair. “Put it on me?”
After fastening the necklace on her, her fingers touched the pendant. Still speechless. Good.
He watched as Eric open his gift—a bracelet of heavy, flat, platinum links and black diamonds. It was masculine, subdued, and perfect for a man who didn’t need flash but required something substantial and as valuable as he was. Opposite the catch, a brushed platinum plate held a message, OURS, bordered in twenty carats of black diamond baguettes. Alexander had considered the word carefully. He’d gone so wrong with this man in so many ways. He wouldn’t hurt Eric again, and if Eric had any doubts on that front, he merely had to glance down at his wrist.
Eric examined the links, ran his finger over the engraving in what could be considered a caress and cleared his throat. His lashes glistened with wet. “Thanks. It�
�s … perfect.” He began to return the item to the black velvet box when Alexander stopped him.
“It belongs on you where you can be reminded every day.” He held out his hand indicating the bracelet, and Eric placed it in his palm. “Your arm, please.” Eric held his left arm out and watched solemnly as Alexander fastened the bracelet around his wrist.
“Let me see,” Rebecca murmured. Eric held up his wrist and let her examine Alexander’s gift. She applauded softly and giggled. “There. Now you have something to show all those encroaching women—”
“And all those men beating down your door every night,” Alexander interjected flatly, letting his lips twitch into a smile.
Eric surprised him by pulling out gifts from a black bag. He handed him a large, heavy, rectangular package. Alexander stripped off the brown paper to reveal an original publication of Audubon’s “Birds of America.” He blinked, staggered at the beauty and rarity of the book sitting on his lap. He found it difficult to stop petting the Moroccan leather binding. “This was more than fifty dollars, Eric. There are only a few of these in existence. I … thank you.”
Eric shrugged. “It came up for auction at Christies. All the proceeds go to a wildlife conservation charity. I thought you’d like that … plus, you know … the bird pictures.”
Alexander let his head fall back and laughed softly. “Yes, the bird pictures. I know this had to have sold in the tens of millions. Please let me help.”
Eric smirked. “Absolutely not. I’m not left penniless if that’s what concerns you. I had a few old paintings moldering away. Their sale easily covered the bird book. And, it seemed fitting that Charles be represented in the room.”
Alexander laid his hand on the priceless “bird book” and slowly nodded.
Eric straightened with a broad smile. “Excellent. Now … ”
He presented Rebecca with a “magic wand,” encrusted with real diamonds, Alexander noted.
Rebecca, not to be outdone, announced she’d booked a trip for the three of them to the Grand Canyon with a promise to show them the star constellations. June, she declared, when they could see something, particularly the star clusters, Cygnus Dark Rift, the Northern Coal Sack, and something called “Prancing Horse.” He’d do it, just to see her eyes light up again like they had when describing them.
There wasn’t a single place he wanted to be other than here, right now. His body was weightless, his breath even, his mind calm, but most of all, nothing was wrong anywhere in the world—not at that exact moment.
Eric cleared his throat and stood. He strode to a far wall and pulled out a large rectangle in brown paper from behind the curtain.
“Another for Alexander,” he explained. “This one was hard to hide from you.”
Alexander rose and accepted the package. After tearing off the brown paper, his breath stalled. It was the Gustav Klimt painting he failed to win in Paris seven years ago. He set it against the chair and scrubbed his chin while he studied the rich golds that seemed lit from unseen light. “It’s the real deal, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
His gaze moved to Eric.
Eric’s lips quirked in a half smile. “Because you should always win. You are invincible.”
Eric’s smirks were growing on him. “It’s … ” Remarkable? Priceless? Not as much as the man who’d gifted it to him. Eric’s green eyes danced with delight in the firelight, and it dawned on him that he had won something far more precious than exquisite art or rare books. He had been chosen. He was loved and he loved in return. The words had to be spoken. “I love you, Eric Morrison.”
The man’s expression displayed shock. His green eyes blinked, and his head cocked as if not understanding.
“You got it wrong.” Alexander half-smiled at Eric’s puzzlement. “I did win that Paris auction. I ultimately got you—far more valuable to me than any painting could ever be.” The two of them stood there for a long minute.
It was Rebecca who broke the stalemate. “Well, kiss him. Do I have to orchestrate this? Because you’ll only accuse me of topping and … ”
Somehow Eric’s mouth was on his, and the man kissed—hard. He probably should stop the topping move, but, fuck, the man could use his tongue.
Eric pulled back. “Willing. Always.”
Willing to take the punishment? Or his love?
Eric answered his silent question. “Love you. Since the first day.” His eyes went to the painting and then back to him.
Alexander straightened and nodded. He had more to do. “I have one more present for you both.” He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to Rebecca. “Read it. Aloud.”
She took it, her fingers sliding into the tri-folded paper. “I, Alexander Rockingham, hereby resign my—” Her eyes darted up to him. “Alexander, you … ”
“Keep reading.”
She cleared her throat. “Resign my position as Grand Arbiter of the Tribunal Council. Sarah Marie Marillioux will replace … ” She stopped, her throat clogged. She peered up at him. “But you can’t. I mean, retirement?”
He laid his hand on hers. “No. I can and I will. I’ve spent my life making sure people are taken care of. It’s time to take care of those who matter the most.” He lifted his eyes to take in Eric, eyes shining, his blond good looks paling in comparison to his selfless heart.
Alexander took Rebecca’s hand. “It has taken me forty years to realize something. People say a broken heart can kill, but I know it’s the secrets that will take you down. I’ve held more people’s confidences, pain, and regrets, than I care to know. It’s time to start building something new.” He drew in a long breath and sat back. “Of course, I’m going to suck at retirement.”
Eric’s laughter cracked the shock off her face. “Did Alexander just say suck?”
“Careful, or I’ll make you do it.”
He cocked his head. “With pleasure.” He stared directly into Alexander’s eyes, daring him, or perhaps waiting for permission.
“Eric, help Rebecca off with her gown.”
Her eyes grew as round as the moonstones around her neck, alight in the firelight, but her smile—the one he’d spend his life ensuring she always wore—lifted her cheeks.
Eric rose from his chair and held out his hand to her. “A queen deserves attendants.”
As does a king. “Slowly, Eric.” Alexander leaned back in his chair. “I want to watch you both.”
And watch he would. He would watch, and enjoy, and protect them both for the rest of his days under a shared, new purpose—loving.
Epilogue
Alexander lifted his face into the bright early spring. Alice’s grave was now a barely visible mound under a sheen of green sprouting up from recent rains. He lifted the sledgehammer, rested an end in each palm. He assessed the trumpet over Alice’s grave. One strike and it’d be dust.
He didn’t have the time—or inclination.
“So, Alice.” He sighed heavily into the air ripe with the promise of another spring rain. He sent his gaze upward, as suddenly words seemed to be lost in his brain.
Rebecca would know what to say. Eric, too, but the two of them were inside the house greeting the new residents, youth who had nowhere else to go, at least until now.
He resettled his gaze on Alice Wynter’s headstone. “Once, you gave me a life purpose spawned in hatred. I have a different purpose now, one inspired by love. Here. You keep this … ” He dropped the sledgehammer on her grave. “Consider yourself erased.” At least from his life.
The wet stone pathway was slick, and he stepped carefully toward Charles’ new headstone, a bright, blue-gray, granite with his full name carved in large letters.
Charles Durham Wynter
Beloved Partner and Friend
July 12, 1959 - June 8, 1981
He brushed debris off the ledge with his hand. “Hello, Charles.” Damned emotion clogged his throat. Would he ever be through with it? For long minutes, he drank in each l
etter while a brown thrasher sang its song in a nearby tree.
He coughed, an attempt to dislodge the words he knew he needed to say. “You may not see me for a while. I’ll stop by when I can, but you won’t be lonely. I promise you. This estate is a half-way house now—for anyone who needs it. People like you, me, Rebecca … and Eric. You’d love him. In fact, I’m not sure I’d trust you two together.” He laughed a little at that thought. “Check that. I know I wouldn’t.”
A flash of red caught his eye. A cardinal flitted from stone to stone, cocking its head right and then left. A sign, perhaps? He’d leave those to Rebecca.
“They have strict instructions to keep the bird feeders stocked.” Alexander scrubbed his neck. “And, you’ll never be forgotten. Not ever.” Fucking tears. “I promise. And I always, always keep my promises. You’ll never be far from me. Not ever.”
His whole life had been designed around one thing—to never again feel the kind of loss he’d once been forced to endure. But a great loss can never be overcome, one can only learn to live with it. He'd live with Charles’ memory, poignant and treasured.
Time was his most precious resource, and while he was proud of his life, he'd still squandered too much of it trying to shoehorn justice into something that, quite frankly, would never change—the past.
No more.
He felt his jacket pocket for the photograph of him, Rebecca and Charles from so long ago. He’d had half a mind to leave it here. He couldn’t bear the thought. He was keeping it, a memento of a time that, while no more, would remain cherished.
He then placed his hand on the granite, and after one, long, last read of the headstone, turned away.
Somewhere between Charles' grave and the stone archway leading out, the past released its hold on him. It was the damndest feeling, as if the hooks within uncurled and slid right out.
It felt like peace.
If you loved INVINCIBLE, you’ll love all the Elite Doms’ books.
Invincible (Elite Doms of Washington Book 6) Page 23
