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I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
She rushes away, her usually smooth gait irregular.
If there was ever a thing that could be said about my stepmother, it’s that she is perfection personified, always refined with never a ruffled feather.
Until now.
Instead of going to my room, I sneak to the library, which shares a wall with the parlor, and spy through the register.
She’s pacing back and forth, wringing her hands nervously. You’d think she’d murdered someone with how she’s acting.
A large man fills the doorway. He’s dressed way too casually to be doing business with a Fitzpatrick.
The man’s enormous arms stretch outward.
“Mo—”
“Don’t call me that,” Celeste snaps.
I can’t see the man’s face, but his shoulders seem to slump.
“I just thought—”
“What are you doing here? I left you with your father for a reason,” Celeste hisses.
And then it hits me—Celeste has a son! One she never told father about.
The man takes a few steps into the room, allowing me to see his face. He’s young, Hispanic, with thick cords of muscle lining his arms.
“I got back from deployment and I was hoping we could reconnect.”
“And why would you think that?” Celeste snaps out.
“Because you’re my mother.” He slides a bag off his shoulder and reaches into it, taking out a teddy bear. “I brought this for my kid sis.”
Kid sis? Celeste doesn’t have another child. Not with my dad…
My stepmother snorts out a laugh. “Do you really think Brooke Fitzpatrick is going to want a fucking teddy bear?”
He…he brought me a gift?
Stunned, I lean into the grate, trying to get a better glimpse of the man who is so unlike Celeste, despite being her son.
I feel a strange kinship towards him. That somehow, we’re the same. Beaten down by the same cruel woman.
All at once, I know what I need to do.
I rush from the room to the front door, grab my coat, and head down to the lobby.
Five minutes later, he emerges, the muscles in his jaw tense.
I know I should run back up to the penthouse, but I can’t. This is the boldest I’ve ever been, and if I don’t leave now, I might not have another chance.
So I follow.
I trail him a good two minutes before I work up the nerve to approach him.
“Um…excuse me…” My voice is timid and unsure, not at all like my stepmother’s.
