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She’s sitting at her desk, her back to it. I close the door behind me and go inside, sit on the sofa across from her. I look around her room. She’s got the second biggest one, second only to mine. I moved her out of the master once I took control of the family. Lucinda and I, we have a long and ugly history.
“Sebastian,” she says, getting up and pouring two whiskeys from the bottle on the corner of her desk. She hands me one. “You never visit me here.”
“I want to talk in private.”
“Can’t imagine what about.” She settles back into her seat and takes a long swallow of her drink.
“I know, Lucinda.”
She cocks her head to the side, and that grin, that victorious smirk, I want to wipe it from her face.
“What do you know, Sebastian?” she asks, raising her drawn-in eyebrows high.
“I know about Ethan.”
For a millisecond, there’s a flicker of panic on her face, just for the tiniest fraction of time. If I didn’t know her so well, I would have missed it.
“I don’t want to hurt him—”
“Late for that, isn’t it?” she interrupts.
“That’s why I’m here to talk to you.” I ignore her jab, push through.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You going to make me say it?” I ask.
She stares back at me, her face stone. She sips from her drink, clears her throat, remains silent.
“Fine. I’ll say it. I don’t know who his father is, and I don’t care, but he doesn’t have a drop of Scafoni blood in him.”
Stone turns to ice.
“He has no right to any Scafoni inheritance. None of it. Not a penny,” I continue. I want her to be crystal clear.
Her face is red when she finally speaks. “And after what you did, it will kill him to find out he’s not your brother.”
I break eye contact, because she’s right. I swallow what’s in my glass, stand, walk across to where she’s sitting to refill it. I don’t look at her when I say this next part.
“That’s why I’m here. You’re his mother. You can’t want that for your son.”
I take my time returning to my place on the sofa, and when I sit back down, I see she’s thinking. Calculating. And I’m not sure at all she’d put Ethan’s well-being above her own.
“This is about the girl. The Willow whore with the pig’s blood on her sheath. You broke the rules, Sebastian. You were supposed to take a virgin.”
She’s right. I have one on her, she has one on me, and we can destroy everything for each other. In fact, the only person left standing if we did would be Gregory. And I feel a weight settle in my gut when I remember his eyes from just minutes ago. The way he acquiesced so easily. The way he walked out of my office, so accepting.
He’s biding his time. He’s going to let things play out because he knows how this will end. One way or another, he’ll get his Willow Girl because even if I am able to diffuse the Ethan/Lucinda situation, Gregory has a right to her.
“I consider Ethan my brother, you know that,” I say.
“Since when? Since the accident?” She puts that last word in air quotes.
“You never encouraged a relationship between us, not from day one.”
“Oh boo-hoo.” She stands, turns to refill her glass. “You need inner-child therapy, Sebastian? Go tell someone how horrible your mother was to you.”
“You’re not my mother. You never have been.”
“Grow up.”
“I did. I grew up fast under your cane.”
“You were always a filthy boy. You needed the cane.” She pauses, grits her teeth, lifts her chin and inhales a deep breath.
“Don’t push me on this, Lucinda.”
“What are you offering?”
“Ethan won’t have Helena. He won’t touch her. You take him off the island for a few months, take him somewhere he likes to go, tell him whatever you need to tell him to change his mind about the Willow Girl. When he’s understood it, you’ll both be welcomed back, and he will never know the truth about his parentage, and you’ll keep your place here, your status. Your allowance.” I wonder if this last one isn’t all that matters to her.
She grins. “What about Gregory? Have you thought about what he wants? What he’ll do once Ethan is out of the picture? You think he won’t contest the fact that she’s not a virgin? That you’re not technically firstborn. That you broke the rules? He’ll have you disinherited before you can profess your love to that whore.”
“What the fuck do you know about love?” The huskiness in my voice surprises me.
“Hit a nerve, did I? You’re so easy. As easy as your whore.”
“What are you talking about, Lucinda?”
She ignores my question, goes to the window, and pushes the curtain aside with one long, bony finger, one corner of her mouth curving upward. She then turns to me.
