Pride and Papercuts Page 8

  Over the top of Mom’s head, I watched them file out, Maisie last.

  Pained. She looked pained and small. Hurt and angry. And sorry. She looked so sorry, it took everything I had not to move for her.

  Her name from her mother’s mouth was the crack of a whip. Maisie jolted, turning to follow with shoulders curved from the weight of it all.

  I kissed the top of Mom’s head before leaning back to look at her.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, knowing she wasn’t but unsure what else to say.

  She sniffled, swiping at my coat. “Your suit. Look at what I’ve done to your suit.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the suit.”

  She tried to smile, but it broke into a sob. “You told me it would be worse, but I didn’t know. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t realize. And sitting there, across from her …” Her breath hitched. “Here, in this place with no one to see her act like an animal, I don’t even recognize her. I walked into that room and saw her mother, and that’s perhaps more terrifying than anything.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said without expecting her to stop. “We’re going to start over, and I’m going to request Evelyn not be present. I’ll do what I can.”

  “I know you will. You always do.”

  I deposited her into Kash’s arms, sharing a look that promised we’d talk about it all later. “Get Mom out of here. I’ll meet you outside,” I lied.

  They nodded as Tess took Mom’s free hand and started to say something about Evelyn and a crowbar and the tightness of her asshole, but I didn’t wait for the punch line.

  I turned on my heel, stalking down the hallway, looking for Maisie.

  The impulse overwhelmed me, commandeering every thought. The moment she’d stood up for my mother only to be pinned by hers, something in me had come unleashed, a prowling beast that would rather see the world shredded to ribbons than witness her pain. And I didn’t even consider tethering that feeling down.

  I was a reasonable man. But not when it came to her.

  A plan clicked together in a neat little row in my mind. I would find her. I would pull her aside, separate her from her mother so I could make sure she was all right. So I could be sure she was safe.

  It was the best I could do right here and now.

  And it wasn’t nowhere near enough.

  I found her alone in a sitting area, face in her hands and body curled into her palms. Her shoulders bounced in even intervals.

  She was crying, I realized.

  The beast in me roared.

  “Maisie …” It was a rasp, rough and pleading.

  She shot up in her seat, blinking and swiping at her face when she saw me. “Oh! Oh, I-I … I’m … God, I’m s-so s-s-sorry, Marcus.” The words dissolved, and she pressed her hand to her lips as if to stop them from spilling out.

  With little more than a step, I was at her feet, taking her hand. “Please. Please don’t cry. It’s all right.”

  “It’s not. Nothing is all right.” She seemed to remember herself, straightening up. Her eyes darted around the perimeter, and she jerked her hand back. “Oh God. My mother.” She moved to stand, and I did the same. “I don’t want to make it any worse for you or your family, and if she sees me with you …”

  “I don’t give a goddamn what she sees,” I growled.

  “Don’t say that,” she begged, her eyes deep with sadness. “I couldn’t bear to be another reason for her to hurt you. Please, for me, Marcus. You have to go.” She nudged my arm. “Hurry, before she finds you.”

  A thousand rounds of no sounded in my mind, and against every instinct, I stepped back. “Meet me tomorrow.”

  She blinked. “Wh-what?”

  “Tomorrow. Eight in the morning at the coffee shop.”

  Her brows quirked. “But why?”

  “Because I want to talk to you, and I can’t do that here.”

  Footsteps approached with Evelyn’s voice floating above them. Maisie panicked, a rabbit in a snare.

  “Please, Maisie.”

  She shook her head to clear it, her eyes snapping to mine. “Y-yes. Yes, of course.”

  I breathed, my lungs stretching in relief. “Good. I’ll—”

  “Margaret?” Evelyn wielded her name like a knife. “Excuse me, Mr. Bennet,” she spat, reaching for Maisie’s arm.

  But Maisie’s face twisted in anger, and she tore herself free. “Let me go.”

  Evelyn paused, laying a cold look on her before turning her attention to me. “That was quite a show. Better than I could have imagined. Such a shame you’ll have to pay for another deposition.”

  Something in her tone struck me first with curiosity and then understanding. Because Evelyn Bower had baited my mother knowing exactly what would happen.

  “You did this,” I breathed. “You did this on purpose.”

  Her smile was all the confirmation I needed. “Careful for hasty accusations. We’ve seen how well those work out for your kind—just ask your mother.” She shifted her gaze to the nothingness in front of her and walked away. “Come, Margaret.”

  Maisie’s gaze bounced from me to her mother to me in indecision. But I gave her a nod, and with a sigh, she followed her mother toward the elevator.

  I watched with blind desperation as she walked away, my heart stopping when she looked back.

  And I rattled my cage with fury and frustration that she could never be mine.

  9

  The Why Of It

  MAISIE

  “What in the hell were you doing talking to Marcus Bennet?”

  I sank into the back seat of the Mercedes, miserable and wretched. “Nothing,” I lied. “You interrupted before he could say what he wanted.”

  She watched me. I kept my eyes trained out the window without seeing anything but red and black.

  “You are not to speak to him. Not under any circumstance or for any reason. And if you ever address me that way again, I will take back every single thing I promised you.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  She stared a hole in my face, fuming. “I cannot believe your nerve.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Oh, please, Margaret,” she spat. “Nothing that took place should come as a surprise. If you haven’t deduced that we are going to strip Rosemary Bennet down to the studs, you haven’t been paying attention.” With a shift, she turned to face forward, folding her arms. “Your father has always coddled you. You’re soft. Weak. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake in counting on you.”

  “I’ve been telling you that since I was in grade school. You never listen to me.”

  “Margaret.”

  Slowly, my face swiveled in her direction. She seethed from the seat beside me.

  “That is enough.” Her tone was deadly and sharp, the kind of tone that only a stupendous surplus of arrogance could relay. “I’m sorry that you’re so tender and feeble that you couldn’t see the slightest pressure applied to Rosemary Bennet, of all people. Pull yourself together. Another outburst like that, and your little project is on hold until you earn it back.”

  Instantly, my cheeks flushed. “I am not a child.”

  “Then stop acting like one. I expected very little from you to start, but your tantrum was beyond the pale. I’d still love to know why you’re so incensed by the lawsuit.”

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you hate them so much.”

  She scowled but said nothing. I shifted my gaze back to the window.

  “I didn’t think so,” I said flatly. “You probably shouldn’t bring me to another of those meetings.”

  “Wouldn’t you like that? No, I think you’ll be going to more legal meetings. Perhaps we’ll toughen you up in the pits. Maybe the only way for you to learn is by doing, and I can think of so many things I could have you do.”

  Though I had much to say, I didn’t speak, knowing the conversation wouldn’t end until either she’d gotten the last word or I’d blown everything to hell.

  Blowing ever
ything to hell sounded so nice though.

  I asked myself what I was doing here, just as I had a hundred times. With a well-worn list of reasons in hand, I silently recited each point in the hopes that I’d convince myself the abuse was worthwhile.

  She honestly had no idea why I was upset, couldn’t understand how I wasn’t on board the crazy train, shouting, Tallyho. She couldn’t see that watching her hurt good people hurt me. Not only for the injustice of it all, which on its own set me on fire.

  The Bennets’ circumstance was a mirror, a reflection of my relationship with my mother. A tugging of strings, a careful setup. A web of deceit and manipulation, woven to snare all the things she wanted. What she was doing to the Bennets, she had done to me my whole life. For a long time, I hadn’t even realized it. And when I finally discovered it … well, they said you couldn’t unring the bell. And though I’d gotten away for a moment, I’d never truly escaped.

  Standing up for the Bennets had felt like standing up for myself in so many ways. Not that it did either of us any good.

  But it sure felt good to try.

  The rest of the ride was endured in indignant silence. When we walked through the front door, we split like a fork in the road, her marching to her office and me hurrying up the stairs on a path to my room. The door closed too loudly behind me, and the second it was shut, the second I was alone, my thin shell of defiance cracked and crumbled, and there was nothing left to hold me together.

  I sank into bed, pulling a pillow into my lap to wrap my arms around and squeeze. To bury my face in and cry. And I made myself as small as I felt, as inconsequential as I was.

  I had been born to be her puppet, to do what she wanted, say what she wanted, be who she wanted. And if I didn’t, she would take it all away. My shares and my trust. My power and future. My charity and joy. She would lay it all to waste, including Marcus, if she suspected I cared for him. If she couldn’t ruin him, she’d find a way to make him hate me, just to prove a point.

  My tears ebbed as a familiar rebellion rose in me. Because I didn’t have to participate in this.

  In fact, disengaging from all of it sounded like a sublime idea.

  I’d rather be poor and alone if it meant my life was my own. The alternative was to fall in line, and I honestly didn’t know if I could do it.

  I didn’t have it in me, like she’d said. And I, for one, didn’t consider that a bad thing.

  The snick of my door opening marked my father’s entrance, and on seeing me, his face bent in worry and fury.

  When I was firmly in his arms, a fresh wave of tears surged. I was grateful for his warmth, for his love. Thankful that I didn’t have to hug my pillow.

  I had him.

  As I was tucked into his chest, he stroked my hair and let me cry without asking questions. He just let me be what I was. Who I was.

  It was a good while before I finally calmed down. With a sniffle, I removed myself from Dad’s arms even though I didn’t want to.

  Grim concern colored his face. Not the cursory sort of concern, but a disturbed distress that troubled me right back.

  “What did she do?” he asked darkly.

  “Nothing I didn’t expect.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t make excuses for her behavior.”

  “But it’s true. She did exactly what I knew she would. She made a ruthless show of it all, prodded and jabbed at them until they fought back. I knew she would, somehow. But knowing a thing and living it isn’t quite the same, is it?”

  He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “No. No, it isn’t. Is Rosemary all right?”

  “No, I don’t think she is. It was awful. It was so hard to be in that room, to listen to her lawyer strip down every person who sat in that chair until they betrayed Mrs. Bennet, undermined her character, even using them against each other. The second Mother saw an opening, she took her shot. I wish I hadn’t been there. I wish she hadn’t made me go there with her to tear those people down. And in the end, I’m just left wondering why. Why is she this way? Whatever did they do to her to deserve this?”

  His jaw clenched and flexed, his brows drawing tighter. He glanced at the closed door, and something about the look on his face set the hairs on the back of my neck tingling with anticipation.

  “I suppose it’s time you know. She’s threatened me with everything she could throw at me if I told you.”

  “Tell me what?” I breathed. “What happened?”

  A heavy sigh. A pause.

  And then he spoke, “It feels like a million years ago, like another life. A story of someone who only exists in memory. The man I was then and the man I’ve become are so distant, I don’t even know how to connect them.” He shook his head and met my eyes. “Before I dated your mother, I was with Rosemary Bennet.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “And your mother was with Paul Bennet.”

  “What?” I asked stupidly, the question falling out of me in shock.

  He ran a hand across his chin to the sound of stubble against skin. “Well, he was Paul Christy at the time. I can’t tell you the blind rage your mother flew into when he took Rosemary’s name.”

  I blinked at him.

  “Your grandmother didn’t approve. He was no one by their measure, a boy from the prep school we all went to. He’d gotten in on one of the few scholarships they offered, the son of a plumber. You can imagine what the Bowers thought of him. But Evelyn didn’t care. She loved him, back when she still had love to give, back when she was soft and smiled with her eyes. Defied her parents’ authority to see him. It was a whole thing.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Rosemary and I dated our junior and senior year, and your mother dated Paul through the same time. We didn’t mix much, ran in different crowds. But the summer after graduation, the four of us were dragged to a charity ball. Your mother was strictly forbidden to bring Paul, and Rosemary came up with an idea at garden club—we’d all switch dates, and Paul would sneak in with Rosemary. And the second they arrived, Evelyn and I took one look at the two of them and knew. Something about the way they looked at each other. Something about the way he held her close.” Another sigh, a shake of his head. “Your mother was furious, detonated on the spot. Launched herself at Rosemary and took her down in a screeching bundle of arms and legs. The blast radius grew to her parents intervening, then to Paul getting kicked out of the building. And Rosemary and I watched on because there was nothing we could do. She broke up with me in the cab on the way home.”

  “Did you love her?” I asked quietly.

  But he laughed, a small, breathy sound. “The way any teenage boy loves a girl. She wasn’t the love of my life, though after your mother, I suppose she was the closest I’ve ever gotten. I was crushed, but truth be told, I’d been wondering about our future myself. Where we would go next, if we’d even end up in the same city. No, Rosie was meant for Paul. I don’t know why it took us all so long to figure it out.”

  I frowned, shaking my head. “But then how did you …”

  His smile faded. “Looking back, I know your mother falling into my arms had more to do with making Paul jealous than it ever had to do with me. At the time—God, I can’t believe we were ever so young …” A pause. “I thought it just made sense. We were grieving together, looking for comfort after a heartbreak. I didn’t realize it when she got pregnant, didn’t understand even when we walked down the aisle. I was dumb enough to think I could even learn to love her. She watched Rosemary and Paul get married and run Longbourne and have all those kids. And all your mother did was build her business and spend her spare time resenting me and her mother and Rosemary. Evelyn went after her fortune, and I’ve always held a suspicion that all that hard work was to spite Rosemary. Maybe she thought money would make her happy. Maybe she thought she could put herself above Rosemary, to look down at her and feel like she’d won. Either way, Evelyn was wrong. The Bennets might not have money, but they have everything she wants.”

 
I sat for a moment in stunned silence.

  My past and present fluttered like a flip book, every picture flashing to make a whole. Her bitter rivalry. Her determination to ruin the Bennets. Her mistreatment of my father.

  And in that understanding, I found a solemn sort of peace.

  Dad watched me. “Are you all right?”

  “I feel like you just threw open the curtains and illuminated the room. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “Aside from your mother’s threats? It never mattered before. But now that you’ve been dragged into the middle of it, you should know why.”

  “Why didn’t she want me to know?”

  “Pride, if I had to guess. There aren’t many people who knew or cared enough, and I think your mother would prefer no one know she lost a man to Rosemary Bennet.”

  I sat for a silent second. “I didn’t think it was possible to be more opposed to this lawsuit, but you’ve done it.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry for agreeing to the whole thing in the first place.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Because she was pregnant with my child. Because I thought it was the right thing to do. When she lost the baby … I don’t know. We found each other in our grief, held on to each other to survive the loss. It was a girl. Elizabeth, we named her. Evelyn was in her last few weeks.”

  A shock of emotion gripped me, squeezed my throat, stung my nose. I’d never heard my mother mention her first pregnancy, and my father had only spoken of it a few times, never in detail. I’d never heard my sister’s name, and the pain in his voice when he spoke it shook me to my core.

  For the first time in my adult life, I imagined my mother having a heart. The thought was astonishing, unnerving. Like peering into the window of a stranger’s life, though I’d known her all my life.

  “After that, we were trying for you, and again, I thought …” He trailed off. “Those were the happiest years we had. I think she tried. But your mother never loved me. I was a means to an end. A warm body. A contractual obligation. Nothing more. When you were born, she shut me out. Shut you out. Shut out the world. She wouldn’t see a doctor for her depression, wouldn’t let me help her. And things just … disintegrated. When your grandmother died, I think your mother stepped into her life as a way to cope, not realizing she’d replaced Felicity in all ways. And here we are. I’m not at all surprised she’s still trying to hurt Rosemary. Two Bower women in a row were jilted by the Bennets, and it made the Bowers miserable. They call it a curse. I say it’s self-inflicted.” I must have looked worried because he added with a teasing smile, “Don’t worry. I think it’ll skip your generation.”