Page 73 of Broken Truths

With a huff, I push past her. This is going nowhere. I might as well force the issue. Make Leon Forbes do his own dirty work.

The good news is I know my way around the Forbes house. I stride out into the hallway. An ornate, black railing greets me, and just on the other side of it, I can see down into the house’s empty foyer.

I take a left and descend the curved stairs. I’m at the bottom, stepping onto the marbled tile, when a gentlemanly voice speaks up from behind me. “Miss Astor. Have breakfast with me.”

I turn, still stepping backward. There he is. Leon Forbes in all of his fake grandeur. He’s wearing a soft gray suit tailored to his physique, his salt and pepper hair slicked back in perfect position. Maybe it’s just the lighting, but I swear I spot dark circles under his eyes that he would normally do everything possible to hide.

Maybe his recent moves are catching up with him?

“I insist,” he all but growls.

Lifting my hand, I give him the middle finger before turning around and heading toward the front door. I yank on the handle and…it doesn’t budge. Not even a centimeter. I tug on it again and again.

“Miss Astor, you will have breakfast with me.”

I stop my useless pulling on the door and head through the maze of hallways to their garage door. With a smile, I open that—

It’s locked, too.

I let out a frustrated groan, then make my way back to the foyer where Leon Forbes stands with his arms crossed now. “It’s useless. We’re sealed up tight here. No way to get out. This way.”

He turns and starts leading me back to the sun room where they sometimes have family dinners. A wall of glass greets me that looks out over the pool that almost took my sister’s life, the thing that made her so desperately afraid of water. Leon Forbes sits, but I grab the closest chair and run at the glass, throwing it.

Instead of hearing the tinkle of shards hitting the floor, I hear the crack of splintering wood as the chair falls to the floor in a broken heap.

“It’s reinforced glass, Miss Astor. Do you really think I would bring you here if there was a chance you could escape? All the doors are locked from the inside, keys hidden away. All the windows are impenetrable. You’re stuck with me.” He eyes the chair closest to him. “Now, sit,” he demands.

A servant dressed in a formal black suit with a white button-up stands behind him with a tray in one hand, the other tucked behind his back as he stares straight ahead.

I no longer want the types of people in my life who would just sit back and watch when terrible shit happens. I need fighters. I need people who are going to speak up when something is wrong and then do something about it.

But for right now, I’m stuck. Forbes wants a house guest, I guess he has one. Dressed up and ready.

I pull out the chair next to him, dragging it along the floor so it makes an obnoxious sound. The lines around his eyes pull tight with agitation, and I smile. “Did you invite me here to give your condolences about my father?”

He waves my words away before calling the servant to start dishing out our breakfast. Mrs. Forbes is nowhere to be seen, unfortunately. “Of course not. I did that at the funeral. You should already know why you’re here.”

The servant serves me a steaming pile of scrambled eggs, several pieces of bacon, and a side dish filled with assorted fruit. It seems so normal to have such a ridiculous conversation in front of the help. We used to do this all the time at my house. If I wasn’t trying to do the exact opposite with my life, I might have a kind of nostalgia attached to moments like this. “Enlighten me, since I can’t think of a reason why I would be held at gunpoint.”

“You forgot the part where you drove your car into a tree.”

I grin wider at him. “Was your henchman hurt?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Pity.”

He gives me his own tight-lipped smile. “When you’re married to Keegan, he’ll beat that smart mouth right out of you. And if he doesn’t, I’ll have the best time doing it myself.”

I still. Married to Keegan… “You’re behind the times, old man. I’m engaged to Leonardo Jarvis.”

Forbes takes a sip of his coffee and then sets it back down on the crisp white plate. “I’m afraid that’s incorrect. Your mother had no right to enter into an agreement with Franklin Jarvis when your father and I already had a legal contract for your marriage to Keegan.”

My stomach churns. Is this really about marriage again? These men are obsessed with the right connections with the right family name. They sell their daughters off like mares to a stud and think we should be happy about it. “The last time we talked about this, I threw a coffee cup at your head.”

I pick up my own cup and take a small sip, my fingers wrapped tightly around it. I’d love nothing more than to smash it into his face a couple thousand times. He would deserve every hit.

“You missed,” he dismisses. “Nevertheless, your father and I made an agreement.” He snaps his fingers and holds out his hand. The same servant who served us breakfast takes a trifolded packet from his breast pocket and sets it in Forbes’ awaiting palm.

---