Page 52 of The Gilded Cuff
“I heard Brant was trying to push back the release date,” Elliot remarked.
Emery chuckled and set his napkin on the table. “As usual, Brant is all about theatrics. I told him no. We’ve set a date and we’re running with it. LI doesn’t need release parties and all of the hype our rivals resort to. It’s unfortunate that Brant disagrees but it’s still my decision.”
“True enough,” Elliot agreed. “Brant doesn’t understand what our company is really about. He’s always loved the power, not the purpose.”
When chocolate mousse was brought out for dessert, Miranda finally spoke up.
“Now, Sophie, my son and husband have thoroughly monopolized the evening. I would like to get to know you better. Tell me, what do you do for a living?” She leaned forward in her seat, a determined cast to her lovely eyes.
“I…uh…” Sophie really believed now was not the time to discuss her occupation.
“She’s a journalist.” Emery cut in. “She’s actually here to write the story of the kidnapping. It’s how we met.” He captured her hand as it crept across the table toward her wineglass. Raising her fingers to his lips, he kissed her knuckles.
“I see,” Miranda said slowly. Her eyes narrowed on her son in a mixture of concern and then distrust as they flashed to Sophie.
“When you mean the story…” Elliot set his wineglass down and fixed Emery with a meaningful look. Worry formed hard lines around his mouth and eyes.
“Everything. I’m going to tell her everything. She’ll write it down and the world will finally have the story it’s longed for.” There was a bite to Emery’s tone that made Sophie wince and shift restlessly in her chair.
Miranda shoved her chair back, knocking her wineglass over. The burgundy liquid stained the white tablecloth, seeping in a steady pool.
“You should have talked to us! Not a journalist!” Miranda threw her napkin and fled the room. Hans was instantly on his feet to follow, but Sophie waved a hand and announced to the men she’d go. She had made this mess by being there and she would help make things right. Miranda had a right to know why Sophie wanted the story of the kidnapping, and more importantly, she needed to understand that Emery wouldn’t be hurt; not by her.
It wasn’t hard to find Miranda. She was in the drawing room across the hall, standing before the large window that faced the back gardens.
“Mrs. Lockwood…” But now Sophie was at a loss for words. Seeing Emery’s distance from his parents had hit home. She’d pulled away from her own parents, rarely spoke to them or saw them anymore. It hurt too much to see the disappointment and sadness in their eyes. She’d let them down, let Rachel’s parents down. Emery felt the same, she knew that, had somehow known deep in her bones they were so alike in this.
“Come here, Ms. Ryder.” Miranda said, pointing to the floor by her side.
Sophie obeyed silently, musing over whether Emery had gotten his need to control from his mother. It was probably a genetic trait.
“Do you see the gazebo over there?” She pointed to the beautiful marble gazebo at the back of the garden. “Twenty-five years ago, I was there, dancing with Elliot. He was waltzing me around in circles. I remember how safe I felt. We hadeverythingwe could ever want. I should have known that I could never trust such good fortune.”
Sophie held her breath until her lungs burned. The silence stretched uncomfortably as Miranda continued to stare at the distant structure, her lips trembling as she seemed to struggle to compose herself.
“It was there in that gazebo I first heard the screams. Francesca, the boys’ Nana, came running out into the gardens screaming about the boys being taken. Blood was dripping down her face and she was screeching hysterically. My first thought was that my boys were dead. Why else would there be so much blood? I couldn’t process her words. She was telling me they’d been taken, but all I could hear was the echo of her screams. All I could see was the blood all over her clothes.” Her eyes closed for a moment before she continued. “Children are so small, Ms. Ryder, like tiny little birds with fragile wings, so easily wounded or broken. A parent’s job is to protect their babies, even when they are old enough to no longer need our protection. When I saw Francesca the only thought in my mind was they were dead. With that much blood, they couldn’t still be alive.”
Sophie shut her eyes, fighting off the sudden wave of nausea at thinking about how terrifying that moment must have been for Miranda and Elliot. Her own past speared her straight through the heart. Images of things she could never erase.
Rachel strained for her hand as the man dragged her off the swing. “Sophie!” Her frightened cry was piercing as he dragged her away, kicking and screaming. Running, crying, Sophie tried to catch up, to follow, but the van was too far away and the man’s long-legged strides too fast.
“Rachel!” She’d screamed the name until her voice was hoarse and finally, only then did grown-ups come out of their houses.
The lonely swing moved back and forth; the metal hooks at the base of the swing set creaked.
Rachel was gone.
“When you realize something has happened to your child, everything seems to slow down and speed up at once. Every protective instinct inside you claws to the surface. In that moment I would have done anything to save my boys. Only…they were beyond rescue.” Miranda focused on drawing her fingertip along the windowpane before looking back out of the window. “A child vanishing is, in some ways, worse than a child dying. Do you know why, Ms. Ryder?”
Sophie couldn’t stop the tears that leaked from her eyes, and her nose started to burn painfully. She knew. God, did she know. It had been her own living nightmare since she’d lost her friend.
“It’s worse because you have hope.” Even a sliver of hope could be more powerful, more devastating when finally all ability to hope died. When Rachel had been taken, Sophie had hoped every day for a year that they would find her. Then she’d lost hope and prayed they’d recover her body, if nothing else. Something in her died as the years passed and Rachel was never found.
Sophie was so lost in her thoughts that she only realized after several minutes that Emery’s mother was staring at her.
“This is more than just a story for you,” Miranda observed. “Will you tell me what it is you’re trying to hide? I see the tears clinging to your lashes.” Her keen gaze missed nothing. “I will tell you everything I remember about the night my sons were taken if you agree to tell me what drives you. Do you agree?”
“Yes.” Sophie swallowed thickly. “When I was seven, my best friend was abducted and never seen again. I was the only one with her when the man took her. Just me.” Her voice shook and her throat was so constricted it felt as if she was swallowing glass shards. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t remember his face, or his license plate—nothing. We never found her body. We never caught him, either.”
