Page 14 of Toxic Glory

Anxiety swells in my chest, my mind racing a million miles a minute to figure a way out of the situation. I sort of want to find out if I’m actually pregnant alone, so I can figure out how to break the news to Alexander.

Truth be told, I’m nervous of what his reaction will be.

I’d rather have time to prepare. There’s no way I’ll be able to hide the truth from an actual medical professional. Once he hears my symptoms, I’m certain a pregnancy test will be one of the first things he recommends.

I’m nestled in the crook of Alex’s body, his arm around my waist.

The steady hum of the SUV’s engine makes for ambient noise as I consider my options. It’s only when we stop at the ten-foot-tall iron gates that I realize just how serious Alex was when he said he might be like the president here.A man dressed in all black and wearing an earpiece steps out of the guardhouse, his eyes obscured by sunglasses. The gate itself is elaborate, the thick iron bars held in place by weathered stone columns.

The ancient look of the gate is in stark contrast to the wires and cameras perched everywhere. The hair on the back of my neck stands on edge—I know the kind of people who would need such tight security. I’ve lived in someplace similar, after all. I’m pretty sure his family’s estate is just like mine was.

Ben rolls his window down. It only takes a look at him for the security guard to open the gates and wave us in. When we’re past the threshold, the elite gated community unfurls in front of us and it takes my breath away. Weathered brownstone houses are set back on huge, expansive lawns. Their stone fences are decorated with flowering bushes and creeping ivy.

Though all the houses have the same general feel to them, they’re each unique. Some stretch four-stories tall, others with garages big enough to fit a dozen vehicles. Each one is the picture of opulence, of generations of wealth and power. There isn’t a blade of grass too high, a single mailbox out of place.

Everything is perfect, and that freaks me the fuck out.

“This place is beautiful.” I try to sound upbeat, but my voice falls flat.

As we roll through the community, it’s nearly deserted. There’s nobody around save for a handful of gardeners. They stop to look at us as we pass, and I’m almost certain there’s fear in their eyes.

But I could be imagining it.

Alex clicks his tongue. “Appearance is everything here.”

I knew that. It’s obvious, after all.

But hearing him say it out loud doesn’t help my nerves. I end up coaching myself through some deep breaths to keep a handle on things. I remind myself of who I am, of the fact Alex and I are engaged and I would have to meet his father sooner or later, of the fact I’ve dealt with my own version of a tyrannical overbearing parent.

If I survived Michel, I can survive Alex’s father.

The car turns on to a lonely, gently inclined road. As we continue along it, I realize there are no other houses on this street. Just a long stretch of pristine green grass, rows and rows of trees all fenced in by a stone-and-iron boundary. I’m about to ask Alex a question about how strange it is that there are no houses on this street, when one comes into view.

It’s set back from the road, much farther than all the others.

As we climb the hill, more of it comes into view. It’s a huge and imposing old brownstone structure with a shingled roof, rising three stories above ground and spread out across three wings in a semicircle. There’s a fence that rivals the one at the entrance of the gated community.

When the car comes to a stop in front of that gate, my heart is in my throat. In the decorative wrought iron and brass metal work on the gate, I pick out a crest with the wordDukewelded in. A second later, the gates swing open, revealing a huge circular courtyard with a grand marble water fountain sitting in the center of it.

Holy shit.

I take it back. This isnothinglike what I know.

Before a bomb ripped it in half, the best word to describe my father’s estate in New Hampshire was rustic. It was like a huge log cabin. Sure, there were stone columns, marble in the bathrooms and two kitchens, but it wasn’t built with luxury in mind.

This house—mansion, because house doesn’t quite encapsulate everything—is completely different. Everything about this building and the grounds was made to stand out, to communicate wealth and power. Just the sight of it has a knot forming in my stomach, like the building has an aura of its own.

The marble fountain gleams like there’s a member of staff who polishes it daily. I can’t even imagine just how many people it takes to keep this house running. Thirty, forty? Even that seems too little. Then it dawns on me that the reason this is the only house on this street is because they probably own the entire street.

Our car pulls up to the entrance of the building.

There is a group of people standing on the porch, obviously awaiting us. There must be ten of them there, but the porch is so huge the bundle of them don’t even look like a crowd. In fact, they give me a point of reference. The front door looks nearly twenty-feet tall; a huge chandelier stretches down from the porch’s cathedral ceiling.

Alex takes my hand, squeezing it.

When I tear my eyes away from what’s beyond the window, his expression has softened. Does my anxiety show? He pulls me in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. His touch sends a buzz of warmth cascading down to my stomach. It helps.

“Everything will be fine,” he whispers, and I find myself nodding before he’s even finished speaking. “This will be like any other thing we’ve done together. You don’t need to be scared.”

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