OVERPROTECTED (23 page)

Dad entered, but I didn’t stop—couldn’t—so irresistible was my craving, and unsatisfied. He stopped next to the piano and waited for me to finish.

“I’ve heard that song a lot lately, who does it belong to?”

My nerves frayed. I met his gaze, and saw challenge there. “It belongs to me,” I said. His brow arched ever so slightly, but the rest of his face remained curious.

Dad leaned and kissed the top of my head. “Feeling better?”

“I feel fine,” I snapped. Was he going to apologize to me? “Why would you ask that?”

“You were cold and wet.”

My fingers remained poised to play. I
needed
to play.

“Charles.” Colin’s voice wove into me from where he stood in the open doors. Dressed in designer black from head to toe, it was obvious he was going somewhere. My heart plummeted to my stomach.

Dad turned. “Yes?”

“I’m taking off now.” Colin’s brown eyes flicked to mine for a second and held, then he was all business back to Dad.

Dad nodded. “Very good. Thank you for letting me know.”

I tore hurt, angry eyes from Colin and stared at the piano keys, now blurring through my tears.

Silent seconds skipped by. “He needed a night off,” Dad said.

I closed my eyes. Need it? I could relate to that need. Feeling like you were going to explode, you wanted freedom so badly.
But you
had freedom, and you lost it.

“He is a red-blooded man,” Dad’s tone was amused. “I’m sure he has a number of women he sees.”

I opened my eyes but kept my gaze downcast to hide welling tears. “Play my song for me, Princess. I haven’t heard it in a long time.”

His was the last song I wanted to play. But when he leaned his frame against the piano, I understood he was going to plant himself next to me until I’d played the song. The melody wrung out every last ounce of self control I had. My twisted feelings about Dad at the moment made it difficult for me to play with grace. I fought pounding the keys. As anger built, my breath heaved in and out, and my hands demanded truth. I thrashed the keyboard. The tune raked against the empty walls, shattering in upper octaves until I forced my hands down to lower registers where the song finally emptied.

I gasped. Sweat beaded on my face. I looked at Dad, face tight with pale shock. He studied me as if I was a witness who’d just dropped a bomb in court. Without a word, he turned and left the room.

My hands crumpled on the keys, sending a distorted mix of chords echoing into the air. I stood, went to the window and gazed out. Colin was out there somewhere. I didn’t want to think about what he was doing.

I locked myself in my bedroom. Even my favorite books couldn’t keep my mind engaged. The only thoughts raging through my head were fleshy pictures of Colin and some Barbie, making out. An image Dad’s suggestion had planted in my head.

Hours crawled by. I remained alone. Mother and Dad’s arguing jabbed out from behind Mother’s bedroom, or Dad’s—I wasn’t sure which. Consumed by where Colin was and what he was doing, I ignored their bickering.

A door slammed, startling me. Dad’s angry footfalls tore through the house. I stared at my closed door. Was I next?

My cell phone buzzed, and I felt my first wave of relief in hours seeing Felicity’s home phone number.

“Hey,” I said. “What happened to your cell phone?”

“I can’t find it. I’ve looked everywhere. Ugh. Where’ve you been?

I’ve tried to call you for hours.”

I realized that with Mother’s accident, I hadn’t even checked my phone for messages, much less thought about calling her. “I’m sorry.

You won’t believe what happened.” I told her about Mother. About Dad slapping me. About Colin coming to my defense, and our detour in the park.

“OMG! Wow, Ash. Talk about drama. Is your mom okay?”

“I think so. I just wish they’d stop fighting. I don’t understand why they can’t discuss things and move on.”

“They’ve been like this forever,” Felicity said, then quickly added,

“I mean—I didn’t mean to say that, Ash, I—”

“No… you’re right.” Still, knowing that Felicity had seen beyond my parents’
Town & Country
performance surprised me, though it shouldn’t have. But if she’d seen it, there was no hope their friends hadn’t. If they knew the farce was transparent, why did they keep it up?

“I can’t believe it,” Felicity muttered. “Was she trying to reach the guns?”

“She says she wasn’t.” Tears filled my eyes. Mother, so desperate for Dad that she’d hurt herself. The idea disintegrated my fantasies and dreams of our family ever being happy. I wept.

“Oh, sweetie.” Felicity’s tone softened. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could come over.”

Like Dad would allow that now. “Yeah, me too.”

“You’ll never guess who I ran into today.”

I was glad she was changing the subject. “Who?”

“Stuart.”

“Really?” New York was, in miles, a small place, but a creepy scratch still trickled down my spine at the coincidence.

“Outside my apartment building. He said he lives around the corner from me now.”

On the Upper West Side? How could he afford that? “Seriously?”

“Yeah. He looked terrible—like he’s just gotten back from a month in Guantanamo.”

“So he talked to you?”

“I was getting back from the store, and he was walking by the building. We stopped for a second. I was shocked he didn’t ask about you.”

“I’m glad he didn’t. Did I tell you I ran into him at the bookstore a while back? He said he’d followed me there, he knew my routine.”

“Ew! I bet your Dad flipped out.”

“He doesn’t know.”

The sound of Dad’s footsteps shook the walls of my bedroom like an earthquake. The door flew open and crashed into the wall.

He filled the frame, fury squaring his face. My hand, holding the cell phone, inched away from my ear in stunned trepidation.

Felicity’s voice trickled into the air. “Ash? Are you okay? Ash?”

I hung up on her. Mother’s voice screeched from behind Dad.

“Yes, go to her, Charles. Lie to her.”

“Ashlyn,” Dad’s voice throttled the air. “Pack. You and I are leaving.”

“What?”

By this time, Mother had finally made it to Dad, but she remained a few feet behind him. “You can’t take her from me!”

Mother reached out and weakly yanked at his sleeve. Dad shoved her hand away, causing her to stumble back. Her eyes flared with fury. Dad whirled and towered over her. Breath locked in my throat.

No one moved. I stood, knees shaking. “I’m not going.”

“Do as I say,” he ground out.

I crossed to them. “My life is here and I’m not leaving.” I wove my arms over my chest.

Dad pivoted my direction. He snagged my upper arms and yanked me against him. Pain cut through my shoulders and fired down to my wrists. “You’re going to slap me again?” I snapped.

“Pack.” He threw me with such power, I tripped to the foot of my bed in a heap.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was midnight and Eddy was off duty, so Dad arranged for a cab. With shaky hands I threw some clothes in an overnight suitcase.

Mother and Dad continued arguing, Mother’s threats like arrows, Dad’s fired back like cannonballs.

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

Would Colin be told about this? What would he do?

Dad escorted me down the stairs, passing Mother who remained poised next to the pencil Christmas tree she’d had decorated with imported French cloisonné bulbs. Her shoulders trembled, her eyes were red.

Dad pulled open the front door and the wreath hanging on the inside fell to the floor, rolled a foot and tipped, breaking the glass ornaments nestled inside of it. My arm in his fist, Dad took me to the curb where the cab waited for us.

He opened the door and I got in. The front door to the townhouse was left wide open, and I could see Mother at the tree, her good hand over her lips, eyes slit in tears.

“The Ritz Carlton,” Dad said. He sat back and sighed.

“I hate you,” I hissed.

His dazed eyes remained out the front window like he didn’t hear me.

We were ushered into the Central Park Ritz Carlton by a bevy of uniformed doormen. Dad spoke to them as if he knew them, and I realized then that he probably came here with whomever he spent time with when he wasn’t at home.

Revulsion turned my stomach, and I stepped ahead of him, not wanting to be anywhere near him.

Dad bypassed the check in, striding directly to me as two bell boys loaded our luggage onto a brass luggage trolley. The dazed look I’d seen in his eyes during the drive over was gone. He was alert now.

“Is this where you bring your mistresses?” I bit out, staring up at the floor indicators above the closed elevator doors.

Dad glanced around to make sure I hadn’t been overheard. His fingers pinched my elbow. The elevator doors slid silently open and he guided me inside. I pulled free and stepped away from him.

He pinned me with one of his cutthroat lawyer gazes. “Yes.”

The doors shut. Part of me was shocked he’d admit the truth, another part was disappointed that he’d admitted to something I’d suspected, but had hoped wasn’t true.

I swallowed a lump. Knowing should have empowered me, but he was too smart to admit something to me if he didn’t want it getting out in the open or back to Mother, which slapped me with the realization that I was the last to know.

The car stopped on the thirtieth floor, and the doors opened.

He led me to a suite, and I gasped when I stepped into the luxury of white on white, every surface pristine, clean and elegant in neutral colors.

Like he’d entered home, Dad tossed his keys on a waiting side table. He strolled into the living area and went directly to the mini bar. I remained in the entry.

He poured himself a scotch—no ice—and drank it down with one sharp tilt of his head. The glass landed on the bar with a clunk, and he poured another. My eyes widened. He repeated his first downing, and then leaned heavily on his arms, staring into the racks of liquor.

A knock at the door caused me to shake.

Dad crossed to the door and peered through the peep hole, then opened the door. The bellman nodded at him, smiled flirtatiously at me and wheeled in our suitcases. Dad handed him a bill and the young guy shot me one last glance before saying, “Thank you, Mr. Adair.”

Familiarity hung in the air like tacky cologne. “He probably thinks I’m one of your mistresses,” I sneered. I rolled my eyes when Dad swung around and looked at me.

“Your room is through there.” With a nod, he gestured behind me.

I took the opportunity to check out the place. Just as elegant and five star as the living area with every accessory a wealthy traveler could want: phones on every table, forty inch plasma TVs everywhere you turned, wet bars, fridges, giant fresh flower arrangements pouring out of crystal vases.

Dad plopped my suitcase on the bed, turned and left, closing the door behind him. I was overcome with exhaustion and shock. I dropped to the mattress, blowing out a sigh. My phone vibrated and I pulled it out. Mother.

Are you all right?

So Dad wouldn’t hear me and blow a gasket, I texted her back.

Yeah, u?

Miss you

Miss u what is going 2 happen?

Not to worry darling, dad and I will figure this out
I hoped so.

Are you at the Ritz?

How did u k now?

A few moments passed, and she didn’t respond. How long had she known about Dad and the hotel? Sickened, I hoped she wasn’t crying. I bruised inside for her. She never replied, so I placed my phone on one of the tables next to the bed. I heard Dad’s voice, but also another. Colin?

I rose and went to the door, cracking it open just enough that as I peered out I caught sight of Colin. He wore the same outfit he’d had on when I’d seen him leave for his night out. A small suitcase sat at his side. My heart swooped.

“I’ve got to be at the office first thing in the morning, so I’m going to retire,” Dad was saying. Though his back faced me, Colin’s body language looked like he was uncomfortable and at odds with the situation.

“You can take the couch.” Dad made no excuses for the accommodations he offered, and no apology for changing our address. “Carry on as usual. School. Then here. You are not to return to the townhouse. If Ashlyn needs her things brought over, you can hire someone to retrieve them. Understood?”

Colin hesitated. “Yes, sir,” his voice was quiet.

Dad turned and vanished into his room, shutting the door with a final thud.

Colin’s gaze swept his surroundings, and I opened the door of my room so that when his quizzical gaze came round, he saw me.

His eyes fastened to mine and a myriad of questions flashed over his face. “Ash, what happened?” He started toward me.

I swallowed. He looked so sincerely interested—in me. “They had a fight.”

He continued my direction. Was he still angry about the park?

I couldn’t read his face, and the day’s events bore down on me. I backed into my bedroom, even as he closed in on me, and I slipped inside, shut the door, and pressed my forehead against it. My heart hammered. I had the fleeting fantasy of him bursting through, pinning me and kissing me. Ridiculous.

I took a long, hot bath, dressed in my white pjs and picked up one of a dozen magazines left for my pleasure, but none grabbed me. A handful of suspense paperbacks lined the built in bookshelf, but I couldn’t think about reading. Not with Colin just outside the door. I paced. Almost texted Felicity, but it was way too late for that.

Knowing Colin was closer than he’d been at the townhouse filled my blood with the familiar fluttering of curiosity and wonder his nearness always induced.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Complete darkness.

My eyes blinked, trying to adjust. Any exhaustion must have swirled down the drain along with my bathwater, because I was amazingly alert at four a.m.

I crept out into the living room area, my distorted vision trained on one of two couches. A light flashed on.

I blinked, covered my eyes while they settled.

Colin lay, half-sitting on one of the couches. White sheets and a fuzzy blanket tucked loosely around his waist, his naked shoulders and upper body framed against large, puckered white pillows.