Breaking Out (19 page)

“Will you tell him about our discussion?”

She frowned. “I don't know. I don't know what to believe. I thought he cared for me, but if what you say is true, well, I don't want to help him. It's just, I may seem stupid to you, but I don't really believe he would do that. You're a stranger. He's not.”

“A stranger he sent you to fuck. Does that sound like the actions of a man in love with you?”

She was silent. Poor girl really did have her heart wrapped up in that little fucker. Lucian wasn't stupid enough to say anything that shouldn't go back to him. There was a huge chance love would outmaneuver reason, and she would help Parker again no matter how Lucian warned her.

He sighed. “Look, I can't tell you what to do. I can't even convince you of what I know. What I can do is make you a promise. I promise you, Sherry, that if you do what he asked, if you confess things that happened tonight in mixed company, it will only work to screw us both. When you speak to him next, I predict he'll try to persuade you to lie about what we did. He'll want to hear that I easily fell into bed with another woman and he'll try to convince you to say so in front of the woman I love in order to push us further apart. The problem is, the further she is from me, the closer he can get to her, and where does that leave you, Sherry?”

He didn't want to say much more. Who knew how sane Sherry really was? The last thing he needed was some jealous, confused hooker going after Evelyn.

“What do you expect me to do?” she asked.

“I expect you to go to him the next time he calls, which you will. I'd advise you not to, but I can see it in your eyes that you'll need to see for yourself what a prick he is. I don't really expect anything from you, Sherry. Except for your honesty when it comes to reporting back to him about what we did this evening. The only reason I touched you is because I've been drinking and I mistook you for someone else. The moment I realized you weren't her, I stopped. Nothing happened because I will not do that to her.”

“Who is she?”

“Someone I hope you'll never meet. And, Sherry, I'm a nice guy, but I'm also a powerful guy. Whatever you and Hughes
have going on is between the two of you. I'll be able to find you if I want to. Don't get her involved and make me find you. You'll regret it. Do you understand?”

The girl's expression fell from intent focus to terror. She scooted toward the edge of the chair.

Cutting her some slack he said, “Put my key on the desk and you may go.”

She stood, slowly walked to his desk and dropped the key. With her back to him, she slipped on her coat and took her time doing up the buttons. As she turned, she said, “Thank you. I have everything I came for. I hope we never meet again.”

“As do I.”

A moment later the door closed and the elevator pinged softly. Parker must have acquired a key during the brief time he worked at the hotel as a bellhop. Lucian knew he could no longer waste away his evenings drinking. He needed his mind sharp.

Parker Hughes was not a man to underestimate. His ploy tonight had only showed Lucian that having the odds tipped in his favor was not enough. No, Parker would do everything he could to fuck him over, and Lucian would never underestimate him again. If he couldn't go to Evelyn, he needed to get the hell out of Folsom.

Chapter 18

Flight Square

A square in which a piece can move in order to escape an attack

The jet squealed through the air as it careened toward the earth, altitudes decompressing the cabin with every inch of descent. When the wheels finally skidded along the tarmac, Lucian undid his seatbelt.

“Look, Isadora, I'm landing. I'll call you once I check in at the hotel.”

“Lucian, don't you dare hang up on me,” his older sister snapped, using her most stern voice. “What's going on with you? You haven't been to Paris in years and all of a sudden you announce you're taking a holiday to go visit Daddy of all people.”

He stuffed his papers into the briefcase sitting beside him at the table. “I'm not visiting Christos and Tibet. I simply needed to get away and decided Europe was the place to go.”

“Away from what?”

“All of it.”

Isadora was silent for a beat. “Luche, are you okay? Jamie told us you and Evelyn had a disagreement and the two of you were taking some time apart.”

He paused. Fucking Shamus. “When did you talk to Jamie?”

“He, uh, he came by last night. He's been visiting a lot lately.”

Lucian scowled. “What the hell for?”

His sister drew in an audible breath. “Okay, listen, don't freak out. She's twenty-three years old—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Toni? What the hell happened to that ass wipe she was dating?”

“Oh, come on, Lucian. You knew that was never going to go anywhere. You should be relieved. Could you imagine if she would have married him and we had to put up with him all the time? At least we know Jamie—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,
no one
is getting married.”

“Calm down.” She growled. “I knew I shouldn't have said anything. We all knew this would eventually happen. The two of them have been dancing around each other for years now. She's not a kid anymore, Luche.”

“Why didn't Shamus tell me? He should have fucking asked.”

She snorted. “Because you ask? Come on, get real. Besides, he wanted to tell you this week, that's why he popped into your office, but he said you already had enough on your plate with Evelyn. What's going on with you two, by the way?”

The captain opened the door to the cockpit and nodded, informing Lucian it was safe to exit. He adjusted his phone between his ear and his shoulder and stood, looking around for anything he might have left behind.

“Don't change the subject, Isadora. How long's this been going on with the two of them?”

“Only a few weeks.” She lowered her voice. “Lucian, I don't even think they've slept together yet.”

“Good God, I don't want to hear about that!”

“What? It isn't like I'm telling you they're going at it like rabbits. I thought that might be a relief.”

“Fuck.” The idea of Shamus and his sister was one he had tried to avoid for years. Isadora was right. It was only a matter of time.

Toni and Jamie had been doing that bullshit playground flirting ritual since they were young. The only difference was he and Jamie were a lot older than Toni. However, Toni—the little brat—took great pleasure in pointing out that she and Evelyn were the same age. “Fuck.”

“Stop saying that,” Isadora scolded.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to say? My best friend wants to screw my baby sister.”

“
Damn it, Lucian!
She isn't a baby.”

“I should have known this was coming. Now that I think about it, Shamus has been breaking my balls about her being an adult now, more so than usual. He could've just come out and told me what his intentions were like a man, so I could've punched him in the face and moved on, but no. He had to be a tissue about it and let my older sister tell me.”

“I don't think he wanted anyone else to tell you. They're probably going to be mad I blabbed.”

“Well, they can get over it. And while they're at it they can get over any ideas they have of this continuing. Toni's too young for him.”

“Okay, Grandpa. Listen, you go check into your hotel and call me when you get settled. I'll be sure to inform the two lovebirds of your disapproval while you're away. I'm sure it will put a halt to all their intentions. You are the center of the universe after all.”

“I'm the patriarch while Dad's—”

“Well, I'm the matriarch and older than you by quite a few years, so I'm overruling you. Besides, I think it's sweet.”

“Oh, spare me.”

“Oops, here they come now. I gotta run, Luche, we're going shopping.
Au revoir!”

“Isa—” The phone went dead. He stood at the bottom of the steps and went into his contacts. He pulled up Jamie's number and texted:

Prepare for an ass whooping when I get home. MY SISTER? Really??

A second later his phone vibrated. He looked at the screen.

Sorry. I tried to warn you.

I'll start hitting the gym again to prepare, because I'm not walking away.

Lucian growled and slid his phone in his jacket pocket. It wasn't that Jamie was a bad guy. He just had similar appetites to his own, and Toni wasn't the type of girl to be bossed. She was the furthest thing from submissive and Shamus, that voyeur pervert, only slept with girls who gave him control of the ropes. Literally.

Maybe it won't work out.

And maybe Hughes changed his mind.

His sister was right. He had to get real.

“Bienvenue, Monsieur Patras. Votre limousine est de cette façon,”
an attendant said as he waited for Lucian, his bags already loaded on a cart.

He followed him to the limo.
“Merci.”

Jacques, a long-term employee of Hôtel Patras and the last chauffeur he had had when in Paris, stood awaiting him at the door to the limo.
“C'est bon de vous revoir, jeune Monsieur Patras.”

He took the chauffeur's extended hand. “Good to see you again, too, Jacques. How have things been in my absence?”

“Très bien, monsieur. Et où allez-vous aller aujourd'hui?”

Where would he be going? Good question. He supposed it was only proper to visit his father first since it had been about five years. He sighed.
“Je voudrais voir mon père et le Tibet, s'il vous plaît.”

“Ton père va être content.”

“I wouldn't be too sure,” Lucian mumbled as he climbed into the limo. While most fathers were happy to see their sons, Lucian had never been the typical son. Christos Patras also was not the typical father. As the limo pulled away, he shut his eyes and prepared for the worst.

Chapter 19

Resign

To concede the loss of a game

Jacques pulled into the rounded cobblestone drive of his father's primary residence, and Lucian climbed out of the car. The brick façade of the mansion stretched high and wide. Nothing in America was this old and therefore could never be as beautiful. The chauffeur lifted his bags from the trunk.

“Oh, don't bother. I won't be spending the night. You can take my things to the hotel and I'll call when I need a lift home.”

Jacques frowned at his English.

“Shit.” Lucian thought for a moment. Changing gears, he recalled the French lessons he'd been forced to endure since the womb.
“Je vais dormir à l'hôtel.”

Jacques raised an eyebrow.
“Mais votre famille est ici.”

Exactly. If his family was here, he wouldn't be. At least not with this side of his family. The driver nodded his understanding, not masking his disapproval well, and placed the luggage back in the trunk of the car.

“Je vais telephone l'hôtel quand je suis prêt,”
he said, waving the chauffeur off. Jacques slowly pulled out of the stone drive, leaving Lucian alone on the steps of the mansion. “No time like the present,” he grumbled as he climbed the stairs and rang the bell.

“Juste une minute,”
a female voice called from the other side of the door. When the door opened, Claudette, his father's maid, stood on the other side, her hair a bit more gray, her build a bit softer. She looked at him and he saw the moment he'd been recognized.
“Oh mon dieu, Lucian! Que faites-vous ici?”

“Bonjour,
Claudette
,”
he greeted, and she reached up, grabbed his ears and pulled him down so that she could kiss both his cheeks.

“Your
père
shall be so pleased to have you here! 'Is son 'as finally returned. It is
magnifique
!”

She tugged him over the threshold and stripped him of his jacket. “'Ave you been in Paree long,
mon garçon
?”

“No, I've just landed.”

She covered her smile with her fingers. “And you decided to visit your
père
first? You 'ave grown up, no? And 'ow 'andsome you 'ave grown.”

Lucian refused to let this butterball of a woman make him blush. He was Lucian Patras for Christ's sake. He did not blush.

Claudette hung up his coat and turned to face him again. She tilted her head to the side and studied him for a moment. “Ah, but what is this, Lucian? You are
déprimé.
”

He frowned at her. She was the only woman who refused to speak to him as an adult. She met him when he was twelve and treated him as such ever since.

“I am not depressed, Claudette,” he assured her.

“Do not lie to me,
garçon.
I see it in your eyes. What has you so?” She suddenly jumped and smiled. “And you 'ave come to see your
père
! Per'aps whatever it is that weighs on you can act as a bridge to mend this silly rivalry the two of you share.”

They walked toward the back of the house, their steps echoing to the tops of the fifteen-foot ceilings. Christos called Lucian's taste gauche. Lucian called his father's taste pompous Parisian chic.

Claudette leaned close and whispered, “Is it a woman? You have the sad look of a man
amoureux.
Has she captured your poor tortured heart and scorned you, my sweet
garçon
?”

He pursed his lips. “You've been watching too much daytime television, Claudette. Perhaps my father needs to give you more to do.”

The swat of her hand landed on his arm where she gripped him affectionately.
“Ne vous l'osez!”
she hissed. “Bite your tongue.”

He chuckled.

They stopped outside of the tall French doors that marked his father and Tibet's private living quarters. She turned to him and drew his face down to her height. “Now you listen to me,
garçon,
” she whispered. “Your father is not a young man anymore. I do not want any fighting,
comprenez
? You bicker with 'im and you answer to me.” Her pudgy fingers slapped his check twice. “Now, you go 'ave a nice visit and then come see me, and I will see about getting you some fresh croissants. Lord knows what you 'ave been eating in zee States.”

She smiled and turned away. As the echo of her soft footsteps dissipated into the depths of the house, he could make out the slight rumble of voices coming from a television. He was here. There was no turning back now. He turned the brass knob and knocked as he pressed the door open.

“Oui?”
his father called from the next room, his voice as gruff as always.

Rather than answer, Lucian walked toward his father's voice and stood in the doorway. His dad's graying hair had begun to thin. It wasn't a bad way to go, Lucian though, figuring in a few decades his hair would likely look the same, being that he was about as carbon copy as a son could be.

When he cleared his throat, his father continued penning the line of whatever he was writing and, without being rushed, glanced at the door. When he saw who was there he stilled.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“It's good to see you too, Christos.”

Lucian stepped into the room. It was furnished in a nouveau riche
style that had Tibet's mark all over it. The only thing in the room of any real value was the desk his father was writing at and now scowling from.

“Are the girls all right? Did something happen?”

“Isadora and Toni are fine. It wouldn't hurt you to call them once in a while.”

“Has Antoinette finished her degree yet?”

Lucian settled into a dainty blue chair that was predictably uncomfortable. “No, she's changed her major again.”

His father crossed his arms. “You and Isadora give her too much freedom. She needs direction, that one, too headstrong. Isadora was always more like your mother.”

“Yes, it's quite unfortunate Toni takes after her father more than her mother.”

Christos's eyes narrowed. “Well, come on then, why are you here? I know you didn't just come to visit.”

“I had business here,” he lied.

“What business? I keep in touch with your manager at the hotel here. There are no matters pressing enough to require your presence.”

Lucian pursed his lips. “Do you think my employees would keep you informed if there were matters requiring my attention? You're no longer the owner. You're the man I bought out and they're quite aware which Patras signs their checks.”

His father waved away his words. “Family squabbles do not interest the French the way they do the Americans. You're my son. They see you as my subordinate. As your father I'm deserving of their respect and, in their eyes, I hold more authority than you, regardless of who signs their bloody checks.” He practically sneered the last part of his statement.

“Fucking Europeans,” Lucian mumbled under his breath.

“So why are you here? Is it money? Are you in trouble?”

“Wouldn't that make you happy.”

His father surprised him by snapping, “No, it would not make me happy. Unlike you, I do not wish my family to fall upon harder times. You may have taken over my livelihood, but it takes a lot more to leave a Patras penniless. I asked, because if you needed money I would give it to you.”

Lucian rolled his eyes, not falling for the fatherly act. “I'm sure you would. At what? Fifty percent interest? Sixty-five?”

“Goddamn it, Lucian, must every word between us be in anger? Surely you didn't come all this way just to frustrate me.”

Something in his father's voice gave him pause. He studied him. This was the same man who walked away from every single one of his children directly after the death of their mother, leaving them with governesses and tutors to guide them into adulthood. He didn't give a whit about their problems.

Toughen up!
his father would yell, whenever they even mentioned something they found unjust. He wasn't old enough to have a change of heart forced by mortality. Besides, one had to have a heart in order for it to change.

“I needed to get out of the city and I haven't been here in five years. It doesn't hurt to surprise employees every once in a while, check on how things are really going.”

As his father nodded a look of sadness flashed in his eyes. “True. Well, it was nice of you to stop by while you were passing through. Tibet will be sorry she missed you.”

“Is she not here?”

“No. She's been dealing with some medical issues of late and today was the first day she actually felt more like herself in some time. I sent her out shopping, thinking the fresh air aught to do her good.”

“Yes, well . . . tell her I'm sorry I've missed her.” Truth be told, he was relieved by her absence.

His father scowled. “She's your stepmother, you insensitive brat. Aren't you even going to ask what's wrong with her?”

And so it began. “That woman will never hear a title from me with the word
mother
in it. I had a mother and she killed her—”

“Do not go pinning that on Tibet. Your mother had cancer.
Cancer,
Lucian. You act as though Tibet was pricking pins in a voodoo doll for Christ's sake!”

“She might as well have been!” he roared back. “She was letting you stick your prick in her when you should have been taking Mother to medical appointments!”

His father shook his head, and just like that all the steam seemed to leave him. “This is the way it will always be between us then?” He rubbed his brow and in a softer voice said, “I loved your mother, Lucian. I loved her and took care of her the best I knew how, but I loved Tibet too. I loved her in a different way. A way I didn't know existed until I met her. By then it was too late. Your mother was already my fiancée.”

Lucian turned away, discarding all the same old bullshit. If not for Tibet his mother would have never suffered as she had in the end. Rather than facing her disease with the courage of her spouse and his strength available to her when she was at her weakest, she suffered through treatments while battling a broken heart.

He'd never forget the night his mother was up vomiting after a treatment. Lucian had sat with her, terrified as only a young boy could be seeing his mother so weak. She was on so much medication she was babbling about things he didn't quite understand.

“She's the cancer, Luche,”
she had told him.
“She is a cancer to this family, to my marriage, and to you children.”

“Try to rest, Mom.”

“I'll rest when I'm dead.”

Her words angered him. He was only a boy. A world without his mother in it was unimaginable. The idea of being raised by his heartless father who showed up only to criticize them was unthinkable.

Then there was the infamous Tibet. His mother spoke of her often. She had been a name spoken in their house from the time he was a child, yet he had never set eyes on her.

Lucian had tried to settle his mother that night, asking her to please not get herself worked up. “You need to rest, Mom. Sleep and the pain will be gone in the morning.”

She laughed dryly. “You kids think it's this disease that's killing me, but it's her, her and your father. I loved him, Lucian. Do you know how much I loved him?”

She began to cry. “Why wasn't I enough? That's what I want to know, Lucian! Why wasn't I enough? I stood by for years while he carried on with his affair and pushed all of us aside to make his fortunes. When he fell on hard times,
I
was there. And where is he now? Huh,
where is he?”

She had swung out her hand in anger and knocked the tray from the night table, the sound attracting the maid and Isadora. His sister climbed onto the bed and held their mother as she wept like a little girl. He backed out of the room as she cried, “Why wasn't I enough? We will never be enough. He always has to have more, more, more.”

***

When he was a child, Isadora ripped the arm of his favorite bear. He beat her with a toy car and his father then beat him, instilling in him that a man never raised a hand to girl. It didn't matter that Isa was bigger than him. Lucian had been four. It was the first time he ever felt enraged. However, that time was purely child's play to what he felt that night his mother fell to pieces in his sister's arms.

It was then, he vowed, to always be a man of his word—unlike his father—and he also vowed in that moment that if his mother did not live through this, he would personally go after everything his father loved. That was a promise, and he kept it.

He looked at his father now, that old rage bubbling up inside him again. “It was a mistake coming here.” He stood.

“You're leaving?”

“What do I have to stay for? I must have been nuts when I thought being here would do me good, having some crisis of conscience, or perhaps looking for some sort of parental guidance that has never existed between us. I'll call a cab and be out of your hair—”

“Why would you need guidance, Lucian?”

He faced his dad and noticed genuine curiosity in his expression, but he couldn't trust it. Christos only moved in methods of advancement and malice. There were no softer sides.

Lucian sighed. “Forget it. If I don't see you . . .” He left the comment open, knowing it would likely be another five years before he saw his father again. He turned for the door.

“Wait.”

He stilled but didn't face him. His father waited as well, and then finally said, “I lied. Tibet's not sick—”

Lucian spun on his heels. “Who lies about something like that?”

“I am. I've been sick for quite some time. Had a heart attack back in November that put me on my back for a while. They did some invasive bullshit, opened me up.” He drew a line over his shirt, showing where his incision had been. “A few weeks ago I caught a bug. I tell you, once you have a heart attack, little shit like the common cold can feel like the plague. Today's the first day I've been out of bed in a month.”