Page 17 of Masked Sins
Just as her spine stiffens, I pull a menu up and hold it in front of my face in case she turns around. It’s not like she’llknowI sent it—but she might suspect it and look around. When a minute has passed, I lower the menu slowly and smirk as I watch her sip the drink I sent her.
Just as I’m about to order, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Pulling it out, I see that it’s a +33 number.
My father.
I hit the talk button. “Hi,” I say, voice low and rumbling.
“Orion,” my dad says weakly. “Have you given any more thought to my proposal?” Typical. Straight to business.
Nohow are youor questions about my life.
“Do you mean the proposal in which you defy the boundaries my brothers have clearly set? No, I haven’t.”
“Did you tell them my predicament?” he asks, voice cool and businesslike.
“They are aware of the diagnosis,” I practically growl.
He’s quiet for a moment, and I have to hold my tongue so I don’t say anything cruel. Like all the other times he calls me, I wonder why I even bother to pick up the phone.
“And they’re aware that I’m simply trying to divide my assets before it’s too late? Miles especially should be thinking about the future of his daughter.”
I grind my teeth together. He’s so fucking manipulative. Being the only son who still speaks to him means I’ve become the mediator. Miles used to until our father screwed Stella’s father over financially. Chase, Liam, and Kai—my other brothers—all vowed to cut contact as adults, and to be honest, I don’t blame them. Now that he’s dying, he thinks he has a right to weasel his way back into their lives despite them having very clear, very valid reasons for their estrangement. I was too young to comprehend the harmful things that happened growing up at Ravage Castle, plus I ended up moving in with Layla and Scott at fourteen. By that point, my mother and brothers had taken it upon themselves to shield me from the worst of it in the years prior.
I often contemplated cutting contact with him to support my brothers, but then he got sick, and the youngest-child guilt took over, so here we are.
“I’m sure Beatrix will be taken care of,” I answer, speaking of Miles and Stella’s daughter and his only grandchild. “She does have four doting uncles—myself included—and a plethora of aunts.”
Plus, our mother made sure my brothers and I had access to our trust funds before she left him. None of us had any interest in his wealth—the art and cars, mostly—that he wanted to leave to us upon his death. We’d been more than financially independent from him for almost two decades. It was just an excuse; a massive guilt-trip from a father who never bothered to arrive for us or put our best interests first.
“And what about you? Have you found a suitable wife yet, or are you still lusting after Scott’s daughter?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Of course it is. I was the same way with your mother, mind you. She resisted me for years until I finally wore her down.”
The bread I’d chewed on turns to lead in my stomach. Like many things having to do with my parents and my childhood, I didn’t know that about their relationship. I was young when the problems began, and my older brothers protected me from almost everything that happened.
“And then she left you,” I add, wanting to drive the point home.
“Of course she did. I never let her breathe. I never let her have her own life. I was always watching her. I wasobsessedwith her. Despite the fact that she left me for someone else, and even though she’s gone, I will always love her.” He’s quiet for a few seconds as my heart pounds. Layla laughs at something her moron date says across the room, and then my father says something that turns my blood to ice. “You remind me of myself. Rebellious. Determined. Business-savvy. You can’t tell me it’s a coincidence that your mother was a ballet dancer too?—”
“Right. Well, Dad, goodbye.” I hit the end button before he can get another word in, swallowing a couple of times to tamp the bile down.
I never let her breathe. I never let her have her own life. I was always watching her. I wasobsessedwith her.
I can hardly breathe as I look at Layla across the restaurant. Squeezing my eyes shut, I run a hand over my face. Why is it that he always unnerves me and knows just what to say to get me to question everything I’ve ever done?
Seven years ago, when Layla told me she never wanted to see me again, it was easy not to take her words to heart. We still lived under one roof, and despite moving out shortly after ourargument, I still saw her regularly at Scott’s house. There were dinners and family functions, and my brothers had always been mindful of including their stepsister in anything important—despite hardly knowing her. When our mother remarried, I was the only one still living at home, so we became the closest.
When Layla started dancing for the Los Angeles Ballet and then more recently Pacific Ballet Company, I used it as an excuse to support her from afar. But as my drinking got worse, it became an unhealthy obsession. She pulled away—started dating, stopped going to Scott’s when I was there—and stopped talking to me altogether. She bought the house in Los Feliz down the street from Scott, and our lives stopped intersecting so much.
I tried moving out.
I tried staying away from family functions I knew she’d be at.
I tried—for years, I made an earnest attempt at staying away.
