The Heiress Page 8

  “We’ve all been hurt, Kristin,” he said, his eyes focused on some distant memory.

  “Who hurt you?” I asked, my voice a bit shaky.

  He blinked and turned to me to refocus his attention. “Another time,” he replied with a smile that barely curled the corners of his mouth. “I promise.”

  I nodded, gladly accepting this answer because it allowed me to postpone my own dark truth.

  He brought my hand to his lips and laid a soft kiss on my knuckles. “I know you work tomorrow and Sunday, but do you think you can get next weekend off?”

  I smiled as I continued to feel his lips on my hand, even as he spoke. “I can try. What for?”

  He reached up and traced the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “You deserve a relaxing beach weekend.”

  I chuckled to try to cover up the shiver that coursed through me as he traced his finger down my neck and over my shoulder. “Don’t tell me you have a house in the Hamptons.”

  He smiled as he dragged his gaze away from my shoulder, up my neck, landing on my lips. “Of course I do,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips were hovering over mine. “Come with me and I’ll tell you everything you want to know about me.”

  My brain wanted to make a joke about ATM codes, but my body would not allow it.

  Every nerve in my body, every drop of my blood wanted…needed his lips on mine.

  “Okay,” I whispered, then I got my wish.

  His lips were on mine and his hand was in my hair, holding me firmly in place as his tongue brushed against mine. His kiss was firm and assertive as he held me there, a willing captive. With every breath I took, my body became more liquid than solid. I’d have to be mopped up off the floor if he continued teasing me with his perfect mouth.

  I wanted to reach up and wrap my arms around his solid neck, but my arms were like jelly. His lips brushed over my jaw and I sighed as they landed on my neck. He slid the straps of my bra and tank top aside to plant a lingering kiss on my shoulder. I let out an involuntary whimper in anticipation of what I hoped was about to happen. Then, his lips traced a slow, tender trail up my neck, landing on my mouth again.

  He still held my face firmly in his hands, unwilling to break the connection. I wanted to climb in his lap and undo his pants right there in that beautiful courtyard. I opened my mouth to speak this thought aloud, when he pulled away suddenly and planted a kiss on my forehead.

  “Sorry, I got a bit carried away,” he apologized breathlessly, sweeping my now-messy hair out of my face.

  “It’s okay. I…should probably get going,” I replied, further smoothing down my hair.

  He stared into my eyes for a long moment, then he stood up and held out his hand to me. “Come on, princess. We’d better get you back into that pumpkin before the clock strikes midnight.”

  I smiled as he took me back through the house and out to his car. The drive home was quiet. Daniel didn’t attempt to torture me with smooth jazz, and I didn’t bother trying to educate him on top-forty music. He held my hand the entire ride home, and walked me all the way up the five flights to my apartment.

  He kissed my forehead and the corner of my mouth as he said good-bye. And as I watched him descend the steps to the fourth floor, I tried to convince myself that the physical pain in my belly was not longing. I was just hungry. Right?

  Happy Birthday, Mom

  Four years earlier

  Petra arrived at our apartment at four o’clock sharp. She was usually at least twenty minutes late to parties. When we first became friends, she used to claim she liked to be fashionably late. It didn’t take long to realize she wasn’t late by any fault of her own.

  “I take it your brother wasn’t home,” I said, following her into my bedroom.

  She placed the birthday gift she’d wrapped in bright red paper on my worktable, then collapsed onto my mattress on the floor. “He’s probably with his new crackhead girlfriend, Mimi or Minnie, or whatever the fuck her name is. She looks like an anorexic frog.”

  I laughed at her description, but Petra didn’t crack a smile. “What did your advisor say?” I asked, referring to the academic advisor at the community college Petra was considering attending, but she didn’t reply. She was probably lost in thoughts of comparing my mom to her parents.

  Petra’s parents were not model citizens, by any stretch of the imagination. She hated them ninety percent of the time. The two-bedroom apartment they rented on Belmont was paid for with a Section 8 subsidized housing voucher. The money her mom collected through disability due to being legally blind in one eye mostly went to chips, soda, and meth. Her dad only showed up for a few months at a time, or however long her mom needed him until they would inevitably have a blowout fight and he’d leave again. Her older brother wasn’t much better.

  Nick dropped out of school in the ninth grade, when he began smoking meth. That was also when he began inviting his junkie friends to spend the night in the bedroom he shared with Petra. At twelve years old, Petra was sexually assaulted in her bed by one of Nick’s nameless friends, as her brother lay sleeping a few feet away. That was the first time Nick was kicked out of the house. But he always came back.

  It was no wonder Petra insisted on always hanging out at my apartment rather than hers. In the years that had passed since the day we met in the middle school bathroom when we were thirteen, I could count on one hand how many times I’d stepped foot in Petra’s apartment.

  On the other hand, Petra practically lived here with my mom and me. In fact, she was here today for an impromptu surprise party for my mom’s 44th birthday. I’d bet my life that the card attached to the gift she brought was inscribed:

  Happy birthday, Mom!

  Love,

  Your favorite daughter, Petra.

  I was even more certain that my mom would read Petra’s inscription and agree with every word, reminding me what an awesome mom I truly had.

  Petra stared at the ceiling for a while as I sat next to her on the bed, wrapping my gift for my mom. I would hold out my finger and she would dispense the Scotch tape as needed. When I was satisfied with my wrapping job, I placed the gift next to Petra’s and collapsed onto the bed next to her.

  “You can always move in here while I’m gone,” I suggested for the hundredth time.

  Petra sighed. “I just need to get a job and move out. Fuck going to college and spending another four years in that nuthouse.”

  “You’ll still be able to go to college if you stay here while I’m at NYU. Don’t let them make you give up on your future.”

  She shook her head. “I love you, Kris, but you know I can’t do that to your mom. She’s probably dying for you to leave so she can start bringing home some sexy middle-aged men.”

  “Ew. My mom is not dying for me to leave,” I said, flipping over onto my belly so I could see Petra’s face. “She’d love to have you here while I’m gone.”

  My mom and I had discussed the possibility of letting Petra stay here while I stayed in the dorms at NYU, and my mom was completely on board. Though I’d been accepted into NYU on a full scholarship, Petra hadn’t been accepted into any of the local four-year colleges she’d applied to because of her SAT and ACT scores. Petra was funny and smart as a whip when it came to social situations, but she froze during tests.

  I never said it aloud, but I was afraid that if I went away to stay in the NYU dorms to avoid the forty-five-minute commute, Petra might spiral and take up one or more of her family’s traditions.

  The even harder truth that simmered beneath the surface of Petra’s family issues was her need to know the identity of the guy who unwillingly took her virginity so many years ago.

  She liked to pretend she was over it, but on nights that she slept over at our apartment, I would often catch her whimpering in her sleep. She confided in me only once that she still had nightmares about that night.

  To say I was afraid to leave Petra alone with her family while I went to NYU was an understatement.

&nbs
p; But she’d held her own while living with them for the first eighteen years of her life. I was more afraid of not being there to stop her from doing something stupid if she ever learned the identity of her rapist.

  “What time is it?” Petra asked, then answered her own question as she pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket. “4:20. Nick’s favorite time of day.” She sat up and slapped my butt. “Come on. We have forty minutes to whip up one humongous chocolate chip cookie for your mom.”

  MB

  The glass of water trembled in my hand as I filled it from the tap. I could feel my mom’s eyes on me, watching my every move from where she sat at the kitchen table. She was concerned, looking for signs that I was in over my head.

  I was.

  And for once, I wasn’t the least bit scared.

  I guzzled the water down and placed the empty glass in the sink. “Please stop watching me, Mom, you’re making me nervous,” I said, adjusting my backpack on my shoulder and leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  She grabbed my hand and looked me in the eye. “Promise me you’ll call if you need anything,” she began. “I know it’s two hours away, but Leslie and I will speed over there if you need us.”

  I shook my head. “Mom, please, stop worrying. I’m twenty-three. It’s not like I’m thirteen and this is my first sleepover. Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll be back before you know it.” I planted another kiss on her forehead. “Love you, Mom.”

  She squeezed my hand one more time before she let it go. “Love you more, baby.”

  Leslie smiled as she opened the door for me. “Have fun, kiddo,” she said with a wink, then she leaned in to kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear, “I’m serious. Your mom is in good hands, so you have fun tonight.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Les,” I said.

  She practically pushed me out the door, and I was giddy with laughter as I set off down the stairs. When I arrived outside, I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Daniel was leaning against his Range Rover with his head down. He was dressed in blue jeans and a gray T-shirt that hugged his sexy shoulders and arms. But it was the natural, haphazard appearance of his wavy brown hair that nearly stopped my heart. I wanted to leap into his arms and kiss him hard while running my fingers through those luscious locks.

  Oh, shit. Maybe I was in over my head.

  I smiled as I approached Daniel and he finally looked up. His whole beautiful face lit up when he smiled. If I was in over my head, I didn’t care. He was worth it.

  “You certainly are smiley today,” he said, then planted a firm kiss on my forehead as he pulled me into his arms.

  I buried my face in the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent. “I’ve got lots of reasons to smile.”

  But when I pulled away, Daniel wasn’t smiling anymore. I was going to ask if something was wrong, when he blinked a few times and his smile returned, almost as if he were lost in thought for a moment.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, as he slid my backpack off my shoulder and placed it in the trunk.

  He returned to the passenger side and opened the door for me. “Never better,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me close again. “This is going to be the best weekend ever. I just have one request.”

  I tried to remain calm, but with his lips so close to mine I found it hard to remember to breathe. “What kind of request?”

  He brushed his lips over mine, then brought his mouth upward to lay a soft kiss on my cheekbone before whispering in my ear, “You have to let me make you breakfast tomorrow.”

  I chuckled. “As long as you promise not to poison me, I think I can abide by your request.”

  “I promise not to poison your breakfast,” he said, leaning back so I could see his face. “But I can’t promise not to poison your dirty little mind.”

  He laughed as he let me go so I could get in the car, making certain to give me a light tap on the ass before I sat down. The mischief in his eyes as he closed the passenger door filled me with glee. I knew that no matter what happened at his beach house, I was going to have fun, because I would be with Daniel. And that was all I needed.

  The two-hour drive to East Hampton was an opportunity for me to introduce Daniel to some music he could listen to outside an elevator. And he took the opportunity to introduce me to his favorite blues artist, Nina Simone. He started off the introduction with her most famous song, which I had heard of, but had never really listened to: “Feeling Good.” But when he played a lesser known song, “Do I Move You,” I realized Daniel’s taste in music might not be as bad as I had feared.

  When we finally made it to East Hampton, I couldn’t help but ogle the enormous houses lining the residential streets. Who could possibly need that much space?

  Part of me was fascinated, while my more practical side couldn’t help but think that all this space and grandeur was such a waste of resources. Still, I couldn’t look away.

  Most of the houses were hardly visible from the street, as they were hidden by dense rows of trees at the end of long and winding driveways. But the ones I could see were almost all covered in beautifully weathered cedar shingles, with enormous windows and stunning-yet-quaint architectural details.

  So much time and thought and care had gone into building and maintaining these behemoths. I hoped the families who went about their day, basking in the sunlight shining through those enormous windows, understood how lucky they were.

  When Daniel pulled up to the gate, he punched in a code on a touchpad attached to a pedestal. As the iron gates began to open, I couldn’t help but notice a black metal sign on the front of the gate. A golden emblem on the sign read: MB.

  “MB?” I asked as he began to pull forward. “Is your real name Mercedes Benz?”

  He laughed out loud, perhaps a bit too loud. “No, I bought the house recently and haven’t had a chance to change the crest on the gate yet. Still a lot of renovations I need to do, actually.”

  He cast a sideways glance at me and I smiled, though something about his response didn’t seem right to me.

  It seemed to me that if you were to spend tens of millions of dollars on a house—yes, I had looked up the property values of this neighborhood on the internet—the first thing you would do when you moved in would be to make yourself at home by putting your stamp on it. And Daniel didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would want another person’s name on something that was his.

  Maybe I was reading too much into this gate thing.

  Then, we reached the end of his driveway and entered a circular drive, where we parked in front of an enormous house that looked like something out of a movie. As soon as the car stopped moving, I threw the door open and stepped out to get a better look at the house. As I admired the lush hydrangeas and the staggering beauty of the wraparound porch, the gate was the furthest thing from my mind.

  Unsinkable

  Daniel arrived at my side with my backpack slung over his shoulder. “Let’s go, princess,” he said, holding his hand out for me to take.

  I grabbed his hand and he led me up the front steps to a set of tall double doors. He entered a code on the deadbolt and the door swung inward. A cool air-conditioned breeze washed over me. The air smelled of lavender and leather and wood polish, probably an assortment of cleaners used by his housekeeper.

  “Do you want to hit the beach or the pool first?” he asked, pulling me into the foyer.

  The marble floor and wooden banister on the grand staircase gleamed with a mirrored shine. Through an opening on our left, I could see what looked like a very worldly library or study with rich mahogany shelves lined with thousands of books. The walls in the foyer and the room on our right, which looked like a living room, were covered in fine art pieces. The glass table against the wall in the foyer was topped with a sculpture I recognized.

  The clay bust depicted a beautiful child wearing a veil over her sobering expres
sion. Sculpting a realistic bust with the appearance of a wispy veil over the face was not something many sculptors could pull off. This was either a very good replica or it was a genuine Philippe Faraut sculpture entitled “Child Bride.” It was a sculpture that had haunted me when I first lay eyes on it in one of my college textbooks.

  “Are you okay?” Daniel asked, when he realized I had become immovable.

  “You said you weren’t into art,” I said, trying to swallow the lump of emotion in my throat caused by seeing the sculpture in such an intimate setting. It was even more beautiful and heartrending up close.

  I tore my gaze away from the sculpture and Daniel was now staring at it. He was silent for a moment, then he seemed to have a similarly visceral reaction to the piece.

  He turned back to me, his expression serious. “I have to tell you something. This house…it’s not technically mine.”

  My jaw dropped and he held up his hands, a nonverbal gesture I supposed was meant to keep me from jumping to conclusions.

  “It’s my family’s summer home,” he continued, setting my backpack down at the bottom of the stairs. “Well, it belongs to me and my siblings now that my mom is gone. It’s just easier to say it’s mine. They’re vacationing in New Zealand this summer.”

  Now that his mom was gone? I thought his mother died a few years ago and he supposedly just purchased this property, hence the MB sign on the gate. Either he was lying to me or I was making a big deal out of nothing. Or we had a different definition of a few years.

  I let out a soft chuckle. “You scared me,” I said, lightly smacking his arm. “I thought you were going to tell me it was your boss’s house, or that you’d broken in or something.”

  He chuckled, but I could sense tension in his laughter. “Do I look like someone who’d break into a place like this?” he asked. “That’s some psycho Norman Bates shit.”