Hush (Black Lotus #3) (26 page)

“That’s right,” Declan says.

“It’s an exquisite hotel,” I note to my dad.

“But now you’re in London?”

Declan takes a sip of his coffee before answering. “Yes. The build won’t begin for another year or so. I just bought the property and am currently working with the architects on the scope and concept for what I’m wanting out of the building.”

“You enjoy what you do?”

“I love it. I’m a hands-on man and the job lends itself to fulfill that capability. It’s also a great feeling to see the process from beginning to end.”

“I can only imagine the pride you must feel to see your ideas come to life,” he says before asking, “Tell me, how did the two of you meet?”

“I met him at the grand opening gala,” I tell him.

Seeming satisfied after grilling Declan, he then turns to me. “What about you? What is it that you do? Did you go to college?”

I’ve already lied to him and allowed him to believe I had a good childhood and lived in a loving foster home, which he naïvely took for truth, but I need him to believe it. I refuse to punish him with my reality, since he’s not to blame for his absence in my life. We were both robbed from each other and lied to, but I keep the lies alive and tell him some half-truths.

“My foster parents died before I was old enough to attend college. I lived with my brother for most of my life because of the financial situation we both found ourselves in. I did take a few classes here and there, but ultimately never got the chance to seriously pursue anything that would lead to a career.”

“Well, you must have done something right to be in the midst of people who were attending this gala. Doesn’t seem like something anyone off the streets could just attend; the hotel seems quite exclusive and private,” my dad says.

“I had a few friends in that circle,” I lie—sort of.

“So, how long ago was that?”

“A little over four months,” Declan responds.

“That’s quick.”

“Maybe for some,” Declan tells him. “But look at her—I’d be a fool not to snatch her up.”

“You make it sound almost like a hostage situation,” I tease.

“It’s love, darling,” he says and then adds, feigning an evil grin, “It takes everyone hostage.”

We continue to talk, and my dad and I do our best not to dwell on all that was stolen from us and enjoy that we have each other now. I suggest getting out and going for a walk, and he informs me that, even after all these years, he is still at risk and has random surveillance as a safeguard—a service provided by witness protection for those whom the government sees fit.

“Even after all these years?” I ask him.

“People in the circle I was working in don’t take what I did lightly. Lives were lost after I gave the feds what they wanted. I turned my back on them, and now I’m marked in vendetta for life. Those affected will seek out their revenge until one of us is dead.”

I don’t doubt him, because I’m one of them. I will forever carry the torch of vengeance for those who wronged me and stole from me. Even though I have my father right here in flesh and bone, I’ll still seek revenge from those who took him from me in the first place.

His phone rings, and when he pulls it from his pocket, he looks up at me with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

At the same time, Declan also receives a call and excuses himself to the bedroom. My father walks to the other room when he accepts the call, but it isn’t far enough to keep me from hearing parts of his conversation.

“I’m with a client . . . I won’t be . . . I know . . . I love you too.”

“Was that your wife?” I question with a tinge of disdain leaking through after he hangs up.

When he looks at me from across the room, he’s visibly uncomfortable. “Umm . . . yes.”

I stand and don’t say anything. The light mood from earlier is now vexatious as real life intrudes on our clandestine gathering.

“I’m going to have to leave soon.”

“Why?” My chest sizzles in irritation when jealousy rears its ugly head.

“Hailey has a recital today.”

How fucking lovely.

“You’ve missed a million things in my life, you can’t miss one of hers?”

His forehead creases in confliction, but my resentment spares no lenience.

“It isn’t fair,” I say thickly.

“I agree, but it’s what we have to deal with.”

“So . . .” I begin and then pause when Declan walks back into the room.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, sensing the tension, and my father responds, “I have to leave.”

“It seems his other daughter has a recital that he can’t miss,” I tell Declan while keeping my eyes on my dad.

Declan places a supporting hand on the small of my back, and I continue what I was saying. “So, how does this all work then? I mean, if you can’t tell them about me . . .”

“I don’t really know, sweetheart.”

“I mean, when I leave, I won’t be able to call you unless you get yourself a burner phone, but then it’s only a matter of time before your wife will accuse you of an affair, and then what happens? You’ll resent me?” I sputter off, allowing my thoughts to get the better of me.

“We don’t have to figure this all out today,” Declan says, trying to reassure me, but I’m well aware how sensitive time is and blurt, “Come back with us.”

“Princess . . .”

“When we leave, get on the plane with us. Declan owns the plane; no one would even know you were on it.”

He moves towards me, saying gently, “I can’t leave my family.”

His words burn like acid, and I snap. “I’m your family!”

“You are,” he says quickly. “But so are they, and I can’t just disappear.”

“Like you did with me?”

“It’s not the same.”

My body heats with rage and jealousy. I’m giving him a choice, and he’s choosing wrong.

“They’ve had you!” I cry out. “They’ve had more years with you than I ever got!”

“Hey,” Declan says softly, trying to get my attention, but I ignore him and lash out at my dad.

“So is this what I’m left with? Scraps? That’s all I get of you, whatever time you can manage to sneak away from your precious little family?”

“Elizabeth,” Declan says in another attempt to get my attention as my dad stands there speechless.

“You used to be mine,” I tell my father on a quivering voice. “It was you and me, and we didn’t have to share with anyone.”

“And now we do.” The sorrow in his eyes is reflected in his voice.

“But they get you first.”

“I know it isn’t fair. I want as much time as I can get with you, but I have three other people who love me and depend on me, and I can’t walk away from them and cause even more people the pain I’ve caused you.”

“Why not? It’s okay for me to suffer but not them?”

“It’s not okay for you to suffer. It was
never
okay, but I wasn’t given a choice. No matter what I did, it was inevitable that you would suffer. It didn’t matter if I went into the program and lived or if I went back to prison and died.”

As I look at him, I can feel the neediness expand in my soul. Its growth makes me feel like I have so much empty space that needs to be filled. I’m hollow and starved for the one thing I’ve been deprived of, and it’s a horrible feeling I’m forced to withstand.

“Can I come back tonight? Around ten or so?”

I nod, because I’ll start crying if I speak. I refuse to cry, but the blades of despair are slaughtering me from the inside.

“Declan?” My father turns from me, seeking permission from the man I love.

“Of course. Come as late as you need.”

With his hands on my shoulders, he looks in my eyes with sincerity, saying, “I’m sorry.”

And I nod again before he pulls me to him and hugs me. I take his embrace, and with a deep breath, I take in his scent once again, because the same fear remains that he just might not come back.

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry,” is my response.

“Look at me. You have nothing in this world to be sorry for. It’s okay to be angry; I’m angry too. I’m pissed and bitter. I want to grab you and steal you away, do everything in my power to make up for all the time we lost. But do you understand why I can’t?”

“I do.”

I don’t.

“I know it doesn’t make it easier, and I’m so sorry. If I’d known that there was a chance in this lifetime that I’d be seeing you again, I would’ve waited alone so that nothing could stand in the way of me disappearing with you. I need you to believe that. Tell me you believe that.”

Taking a hard swallow, I force the words out through all the pain that’s suffocating me. “I believe you, Dad.”

MY DAD DID
come back later last night just as he promised. He and Declan talked business and politics while drinking Scotch. I enjoyed watching the two of them together, debating and laughing as if they’d been friends for years. Dad wanted to know what life was like for us in Scotland and now in London, and although our time there has been plagued by so much darkness, Declan did well to veer around all that. When Dad asked about the house in Scotland, I told him all about my time at Brunswickhill: the history of the estate, all the amazing parts of the land surrounding it, the clinker grotto, the atrium, the library. I went on and on, because truthfully, I love the house so much; it’s what most little girls dream a palace to be like.

The more we are around each other, the more comfortable we become. The ease of last night felt so natural and so promising. Having the two men that I love so much in the same room with me is amazing. I try not to focus on the nuts and bolts of how this is all going to work moving forward. Declan told me after my father left last night to just enjoy this time we’re able to share in the here and now, and that we will figure out the details later. I accepted his suggestion to live in the moment.

My father returned a couple hours ago with another bouquet of pink daisies. We’ve been hanging out on the couch, watching an old James Bond movie that my dad claims is one of his favorites. Once the movie ends, we order up some lunch, and are now eating our food as we sit in the living room together.

“Declan, tell me, are your mother and father still living in Scotland?”

Now, it’s my turn to give Declan a preemptive squeeze like he had when my father asked me about my childhood. I’m not sure what Declan will say, but I need to let him know that I’m here.

“No. My mother actually passed away when I was a teenager.”

He doesn’t say anything about his father, and when he turns away from my dad, I know he won’t. Before my dad can ask another question, I turn my father’s attention to me.

“Dad, I umm . . . I thought you should know that I had a friend of mine look into finding my mother.”

He looks at me nervously. “You did?”

“Yes,” I tell him and then add, “I know what she did.”

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to know about her because I didn’t want you to think—”

“That she didn’t love me?” I cut in. “Dad, she didn’t love me. The thing is, her being sick and depressed when she sold me is one thing, but she’s been a free woman for a very long time and still has yet to contact me.”

“I don’t want to make excuses for that woman and what she did. It was a rough period in our lives—one I had to move on from—which is why when you were little and would ask me if you had a mom, I would always deflect. And since you were so young, it was easy to do.”

I can talk about that woman without getting worked-up because I’ve closed myself off from that facet of my life even though it goes against Declan’s word. He’s made it clear that he no longer wants me to avoid that which hurts me. But my mother’s truth about what she did to me when I was a baby is too painful for me to think about, and with everything else going on, Declan hasn’t broached the subject of my mother since.

“Do you think you’ll ever see her or talk to her?”

“No,” I state firmly. “She’s never been a part of my life and I don’t see a need for it now.”

“I don’t want to tell you what to do in this situation, but I think staying away is the best choice. I’d be afraid she’d only hurt you.”

“Have you spoken to her since all that?”

“No. As soon as I had you back in my arms, I was done with her and, aside from the day I had to testify at her trial, I never spoke to her or saw her again.”

When there’s nothing else to be said, we sit in a short span of silence before my dad attempts to lighten the mood. “Tell me something good. Something funny from your childhood.”

He has no idea that there’s nothing funny about my childhood, but Declan catches the conversation before it drops and says to my dad, “Better yet, why don’t you tell me more about Elizabeth. What was she like as a little girl?”

Thank you, Declan.

My father’s face instantly lights up with a smile as he reflects on the past. “She was a spitfire of a girl, but in the most endearing way possible.”

“So I see that part of her hasn’t swayed.” Declan’s voice is full of humor, but I keep my attention on my father as he goes on.

“She didn’t have any women in her life, it was only me and a couple of my good friends that surrounded her,” he says and then turns to look at me. “But, somehow, you were so soft and pink and everything a little girl should be.”