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“How so?”
Alden’s frown digs deep trenches into his brow. I think it’s basic human nature and concern that causes me to want to reach over and smooth them away. “Living at home—if I could use that word because it wasn’t a home at all—was…it was…not fun. It was the opposite of fun. My father… well, I’d liken him to the devil, but that would be doing Satan a serious disservice. I don’t think the devil himself could be as bad as my father was. I saw him do terrible things to other people. Other men. But never women. Unless that woman was my mother, though he never hit her. He was too controlled for that. Instead, he controlled her in every other way possible. She was like a puppet, a zombie, doing what he wanted. She was strung out on prescription meds to make her biddable, but also probably because it was the only way she could survive getting through the day. I imagine she thought about killing herself just to escape. All the time. She never intervened in my father’s business, and to her, I was his business. Maybe she didn’t have the strength physically, but she also didn’t have the capacity mentally.
“I don’t blame her for any of that. She was a victim of my father. He wanted a son, and she gave him one. He wanted to prune me to become his successor, and there was nothing she could do about that. If she thought about leaving, which I’m sure she did, my father would have come after her and killed her. Though not himself. He would have sent his men. She didn’t matter enough to him, but he couldn’t stand to be humiliated. On paper, he gave her everything. A huge house, expensive cars, vacations all over the world, fancy clothes, jewelry, and endless money. All villains are excellent at putting on a nice face for the rest of the world, and my father was a master at that. He was a great supporter of the arts and even charities, and they’d make regular appearances. Sometimes, later when I was older, I would join them. There we were in public, a happy, healthy, glowing family unit. It was all a cover. It makes it easier to do bad things if people think you’re a good person.”
What little appetite I had left quickly vanished. My mouth is dry as stone, and my heart hurts like it’s turned into one as well. It feels a lot like there’s a big old rocky lump in my chest. My throat feels closed shut, and I lift my wine glass, my hand shaking slightly, to bring it to my lips to take a sip. The moisture does little to dispel the dryness, but then, downing an entire lake’s worth of water probably wouldn’t either.
“I…I don’t know what to say.” I clasp my hands under the table, holding my fingers rigid and tightly together. “I want to tell you that I’m sorry and that no child should have to live like that or see those things, and this other part of me wants to tell you how relieved I am that I never knew that life. Is that terrible or just terribly honest?”
Alden’s right eye ticks and his jaw follows suit as he clenches it. “Neither. I mean, it’s honest, yes, but your honesty isn’t terrible. I think it’s human nature to want to be free, to want to be loved, and to want to be safe. I had none of those things, so now that I have those needs met and have had them ever since Granny adopted me, I never take them for granted. I just want you to know what drives us. Or what really drives me. I can’t speak for my brothers. I could, but I think it’s best to let them tell their own stories in their own time.”
“I feel very spoiled now. I’m sorry I got mad this morning when you were trying to tell me to be kind to them. I understand now. I was just…spoiling for a fight, I guess.”
Alden sips his wine again. I want to tell him, as I watch his throat work with a long swallow, not to drink it. I feel terrible about the pettiness of my desire for revenge, but what would he do if I admitted that I drugged his wine?
He’d probably grin, and then he’d probably laugh. He’d probably say, “Job well done,” and give me a fist bump. He’d probably make a joke about it. The mean, serious, evil, monochromatic alpha boss man who was sitting in the basement yesterday? That’s not this man. Yes, I know it might be him, but he’s different now. To me, he’s different.
I open my mouth to tell him, but the words get reabsorbed back into my mouth when he smiles softly at me. At his smile, everything inside me goes wild and flutters madly. My tongue gets thick, my mouth becomes even dryer, and suddenly, it’s not even possible to say actual words.
