Queen (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (17 page)

It’
s only early evening and I wistfully gaze at the nightgowns hanging in my closet. I want to crawl into bed and never come back out. I need sometime in imagination-land. Reality is kicking my ass, but I can’t afford to fade from it. I pull on a pair of ridiculously expensive jeans and a blouse. I feel sick to my stomach wearing clothing that costs more than the monthly expenses of the people I just left behind. I silently vow to help them all I can when I have the ability.

I try not to see my reflection in the mirror. My curvy body is accentuated by the fit of clothes that were specifically bought for me. My hair is smoother from the concoction Ade bought for me. My green eyes rega
rd me through the mirror. They’re haunted and it makes me look as if I belong at Whittenhower Estates- we all hold that particular expression now with the exception of the senior Whittenhower and his minion daughter-in-law.

“Thank you, Sir,” Grant says reverently.

I fold myself on the center of the bed. I tuck my knees under my chin and embrace my legs for comfort as I listen to Grant speak on the phone. I assume he’s speaking with the Dean.

“Transfer my royalties account to Regina’s, and any future deposits as well. I would like a quarter of my earnings transferred weekly. He shouldn’t suspect that amount. He already believes me wasteful.”
His melodic voice holds a hint of thinly-veiled anger.

He looks lost until he hears the reply. His face clears and he looks re
assured. I have no clue who he’s talking to. It makes me realize I know nothing of Grant outside of this fucked up house.

“Zee, he tried to rape her this morning,” he sobs out.

He turns his back to me as far as the phone cord allows. His shoulders slope in shame. I hear the buzz of rapidly fired words from the other end of the phone. I have no idea what words are said or who is speaking them. I watch Grant as he listens to the person on the other end of the phone. Slowly his shoulders broaden and his back straightens. His head raises and he turns back to me. I can almost see the confidence flowing through the phone line and infusing into Grant’s will. It changes him into a stronger, more capable person.

“I need to see you,” Grant begs. “No, Sir, in person,” his begging is more
persistent and it confuses me.

“I understand, Sir. I miss you, though.
May I visit with Hayes then? I’m in serious need of a friend.” The reply has his eyes cutting to me. He shakes his head yes as the voice on the other end of the phone flows. I can hear the tone, but not the words. It’s so soothing I nearly sigh.
“Always… Me too, Zee… I’ll expect his call… Thank you, Sir,” he says reverently.

He hangs the phone up with an expression of embarrassment. He looks like I just witnessed him in an intimate moment. Maybe I did- I don’t know who was on the other end
of the phone or what they said or what they mean to Grant.

He smiles shyly at me a
nd folds his hands in his lap.

“That was my friend. I- I… um, I need to see him, but he said no,” he says grumpily. It reminds me of a petulant child and I nearly laugh. I can see Whitt making that same expression. My lips twitch as I try to keep from smiling.

“He says I should come to you instead.” He ducks his head bashfully.

If I weren’
t perceptive I would think he was talking of sex or something equally salacious, but I do know Grant on this. He’s talking of reassurance, a shoulder to cry on. Whoever his friend is, he is Grant’s lifeline by keeping Mr. Whittenhower’s control at bay. 

“Okay,” I shake my head in agreement and he grins at me- damned dimple. “I don’t know you
at all, Grant. Who is Hayes?”

He flashes me a huge smile brig
htening his somber expression.

“You want to get to know me?” He asks in surprise.
He raises his blond eyebrow and, although it reminds me of his father earlier, it has a profound effect on me. My smile breaks through my control.

“Yeah,” I say just as bashfully. “There isn’t a damned thing you don’t know about me. I hold no secrets. I think it should be mutually exclusive, don’t yo
u?”

I cover my mouth with the back of my hand, containing my building laugh. I flush bright red. He reminds me of that purebred puppy again. A h
uge grin’s on his face and he’s lightly clapping his hands in his lap. What am I going to do with him? Keep him, I guess.

“Yay,” he chuckles out - damned idiot. I laugh with him.

“No one ever wants to know about me. They get their information from my father.” He shrugs.

“What do you want to know?”

“What do you do for a living?” I don’t know where to start.

“I’m my father’s paper-pusher. I get paid a ridiculous amount, but he watches every penny. It’s what I went to school for, but it’s not my pass
ion.” His face glazes with lust and not the sexual kind.

He watches me for a moment wondering if I care for him to continue. His fingers are plucking at a loose string
on the hem of his pant leg. He’s nervous. I unlock my hand from around my knees and wrap it around his nervous fingers. I close my eyes at the pleasant sensation that zings through my body at our connection. It scares the shit out of me.

“I have a secret that only two other people know. No one in my family knows.” His eyes are blazing with happiness and an underlying glint of deviousness. “I write when no
one’s watching. I’ve published two books under a secret pen-name.”

I lo
ok at him in shock and awe. He’s the sensitive sort, but I didn’t think he had it in him to cover that up. I don’t doubt his ability to write a story after growing up in this family.

“What’s your pen-name?”
I ask out of curiosity. “What’s the genre?”

“Nah-huh,” he snickers out. “That’s my secret. Only one person knows t
hat and that’s only because he’s my in-between. I don’t make a lot of money at it. I know people think that if you write a book that you’re rich. Writing is creation; it’s just another form of art. They don’t call us starving artists for nothing. I’d rather starve than do anything else,” he says with pride.

My heart swells as I see the pride glow
from his face. This is who he’s meant to be. If it weren’t for his father he would be immensely happy being a starving artist.

“You look pretty healthy to me,” I tease.

“I would, ya know, hovel up in a tiny place and absorb myself in my work. I don’t need a lot to be happy. I’m a simple kind of guy. I just want my family and a handful of friends that I trust. Life is too complicated, stressful, and it frightens me. I’d rather live inside my mind where I can control every minute detail.”

The look of yearning he pins me with steals my breath. I grab harder onto his hand. I want nothing more than to sit in his lap and forget the world around us, even i
f it’s only for a few minutes.

“I told you that you didn’t know me, Regina. Everyone sees me as an extension of my father and I’m not. That’s why he hates me so much. He wanted a child in his image. He’s never going to get that.” He deviously smirks. “Whitt’s just like me, only stronger, but not to my father’s standards. Our child will be ours and he can’t do a damn thing ab
out it.”

He watches me as if I’
m his world. I can’t hold his eyes because the depth of their gaze terrifies me. I’m so screwed.

“I understand wh
y you want to have your friends. That’s why I made sure that Fate can visit and you can speak with her freely. Hell, Father made me and Adelaide sign confidentiality contracts too,” he says in distain.

He yanks my hand so that my eyes connect with his
. “I’m keeping an eye on Roman Alexander for you as well. It would pain me if you wanted to meet with him, but I understand if you want to know if he’s alright.”

“Why?” I ask weakly. I can hear the tears i
n my voice, but none manifest.

“Welcome to the life of the rich and powerful, where you have to watch your back from birth. I know that you had to be vigilant for your safety as you grew up, but imagine waiting for your nearest and dearest to stab you in the back. I mean that in both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word.  An ally is the most important thing in the world. I only have one. I love my siblings and moth
er with all my heart, but they’re corruptible. I know you can trust your friend. I can’t trust you around him, though. He’s too big of a temptation for you. Allow me to ease your mind where he’s concerned. My friend,” he stumbles over the word friend. “He said that Roman distributed your belongs among your neighbors and is currently leaning in his favorite spot. All is well in your old neighborhood.”

I hide my face against my knees. My chest aches, my skin hurts, my eyes sting, but the sob that spills from my chest is empty of tears.

“I miss them so much,” I weep. Grant sucks in a sharp breath at the pain in my voice. “I miss my parents. I miss my Dad the most. Before his left us, he was my rock. When he died I became my mother’s rock. I like the feeling I get from being strong enough to shoulder the pain, but sometimes I need someone to hold me up. I’d forgotten what it feels like. Roman offers me that. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Grant, but I miss him too.” I look up at him from watery eyes that refuse to unleash. I expect to see anger, but his face is filled with understanding and compassion.

“
I lost someone once,” he says flatly. “I miss them every day. I understand, Regina,” he says mournfully.

“Who?”
My curiosity makes me forget my own misery for a moment.

“I met a girl a long time ago,” he says wistfully. His eyes glitter with tears. “Gwen was an angel. She was kind and giving, and I fell
hard for her. I loved her so much. She was my first everything. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. I didn’t care what my father said; I just wanted to be with her. The morning after we announced our engagement I awoke to an empty bed. I never heard from her again. Less than a year later her mother contacted me and told me she had been poisoned- suicide they said,” he breathes.

I watch him silently cry and have no idea
how to lessen the pain. There’s nothing anyone can ever do to make the pain go away.

“I still don’t believe it. It never made any sense to me. A few months later my father pushed Cora at me and I relented. What did it really matter? The one I wanted as a wife was gone. I would have been proud to call
Gwen, Mrs. Whittenhower,” he says wistfully and gets a far-off look in his eyes.

“I know you, Regina. I know your pain; I feel it
, too, every day.” His smile is filled with agony and loneliness.

His body is taut with tension. I know he wants to hold me, but is waiting for permission. I finally give in to my bo
dy’s need that’s screaming at me. I crawl into his lap and wrap my arms and legs around him. He buries his face into my hair and inhales loudly. His sigh is warm and it ruffles the fine wisps of hair at my nape. We don’t speak. He silently cries for both of us. His tears slide down my neck in a cooling line to my breasts. I wish I could join him. His compassion and pain humble me.

“How long ago, Grant?” I ask after a few moments.

“In a few months it will be seven-years since she left me. Next week is the sixth anniversary of her death. Every year it should be easier, but it’s harder. It represents what I don’t have and never will. I gave up and allowed my father to take me over. I wasn’t always like this, Regina. I’m nearly the same now, but I was so much worse after this happened. It’s taken my friend years to pull me back out of my father’s grip. It doesn’t take the fear away, though.”

“What are you afraid of Grant? Say it out loud,” I command. He jolts at the demanding tone in my voice. I know he w
on’t answer unless I make him.

“Gwen didn’t fit in
to his plans. I think he did something to her. I think she killed herself because of it or maybe she didn’t even kill herself. He’s capable of many things, Regina. I tried to warn you. What he’s done to you is nothing compared to what he can do. It’s a silent threat that hangs over Whittenhower Estates. We all comply because the alternative is worse than his demands.” He trembles in my arms.

I want to take the torment from his mind. I want to make him feel safe. I want to give him all the things I need because no one will give them to me
. I know I can feed off of his security and comfort.

My fingers knot in
to the back of his hair. I pull until he looks at me- his blue eyes glow with trust and it’s my undoing. I fuse our lips together, never closing my eyes. I hold his gaze as I softly kiss his pain and fear away.

“You may touch me,” I flutter across his lips. His eyes widen in surprise and delight. I
smile waiting for his touch.

Grant’s touch
is tentative. I expected him to unleash all of his pent up frustration and attack me. His fingers hover over my skin. I can barely feel the whisper of sensation. I close my eyes and sink into the oblivion known as Grant.

I whimper when my tender mound comes into
direct contact with the hardness between his thighs. “Sorry,” he murmurs and moves away from me slightly.