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Since that nauseates me to the point of nearly losing my breakfast, I give myself whiplash by doubling back. “You call him Tom. You guys were close.” It’s not a question, simply a paraphrasing of some of what he’s explained. A fact that has the tears flowing again.
That’s why my dad reacted when he saw Wells that first day with me. Was he happy to see Wells? Relieved?
He bends forward, elbows on his knees with a shaky breath. “Yes. He was a mentor, a friend. He treated me like a son.” His voice is strained. He’s undeniably broken from the loss, and that stakes me right through the heart. “I miss him every day. And he knew I was taken with you. He approved.”
I collapse onto the couch, like I’ve been pummeled by a freight train. It feels as though there are pieces of me scattered all over this room. Completely disconnected. “So, the day we met, you and Ty knew … and you already felt something for me … how?”
“You’d been under my skin for years, Ives, since the beginning. Although you were so young then, but you still got tome—an obsession in ways. I thought day and night about how to make this all easier on you, how to keep you safe. I watched you thrive in college, saw how strong you were, how you were the light in every goddamn room you walked into, and I dreamed about how maybe, one day, you’d be mine. But,Jesus, you’re more than I ever imagined, baby.”
In other circumstances, that would be the most romantic profession I’d ever heard, but instead, it’s merely another fragment lying in the rubble.
“Why didn’t you just tell me all of this when we met? Or come to my house before that and explain who you were, who I was?”
“After your father had the stroke, we needed time.” His eyes close with a heavy breath. “You to grieve and me to come up with a new plan because he was supposed to explain everything—to prepare you and ease you into it. That was the exciting plan he had for you after graduation.”
So much about that statement unhinges me. This is what my father wanted, and when I told my husband about the plans I’d never know about and how lost I felt, he never let on that he knew. That stings regardless of his reasoning. It taints our intimacy.
My hand crawls up to my chest, an avalanche of conflicting emotions crushing me.
Wells clears his throat, although it’s more of a groan, like he’s in physical pain. “I told O’Reilly I needed to give you an extra year due to a family tragedy. He was disappointed but understanding. Then, that ancestry test hit, and I had to get you out of there. But I wanted to do it in the least frightening way possible. If I’d told you all this to begin with, do you honestly believe you’d have willingly come with me so I could protect you properly?”
“No, I wouldn’t have.” I’d have thought he was a lunatic and never heard him out. It would’ve all been far smoother if my dad had told me years ago. It certainly would have explained why I was forbidden to have social media accounts or to go anywhere withcrowds or to ever share personal information with someone who hadn’t been vetted.
My lungs burn. “My dad. You said it was treason. Will they—”
“No. Part of the deal I made was that your parents wouldn’t be held accountable and would be considered untouchables. O’Reilly isn’t thrilled that you were kept from him. Until recently, no one knew Tom’s identity or yours. I think it’s suspected now, although you did so good, using a fake name and Celeste’s address on the ancestry forms. Brilliant, as always. Tom taught you well. Anyway, O’Reilly is grateful you were well cared for. He’s not a vengeful man, and he knows you love your parents, so he agreed to let it go.”
“Okay,” I whisper, fiddling with the hem on my tank. “And the danger I’m in, if I reveal my identity to O’Reilly, does that solve it?”
“Maybe.” He buries his face in his hands. I’ve never seen him so drained. His eyes finally snap to mine. “There’s a lot to discuss with that. Assuming a seat isn’t a simple process. They’ll want to see that you’re capable. That, alone, could be a treacherous venture. Although they’ve assured me your safety won’t be compromised. And there are those in the organization who are adamant that a woman, especially one not raised in the life, should not be permitted to hold the seat. That poses a separate danger, far more threatening.”
I scoff. “So, the board I’m supposed to work for is an organization full of misogynistic pigs?”
“You won’t be workingforthem. You’ll be running the countrywiththem. As powerful as any of them—an equal. And, yes, they may support women in public offices, but convincing them a woman should be the one pulling the strings was a challenge.” He smiles—a genuine, doting smile. “I’m confident you’d destroy that perspective.”
I hold up my hand, not capable of handling his praise at themoment. It hurts. “Thanks, but I need time, Wells. To make sense of this. It’s so fucked up. I need to go—”
“Where?” His face is riddled with panic.
“For now, to my old room, maybe for a run. Alone. Since I’m surrounded by people who, regardless of their reasons, have been pretending, lying, and using me as a paycheck. I don’t know how to trust any of you.”
A frown tugs the corners of his lips down—lips that were all over me, making me scream expletives into my pillow hours ago. “I won’t claim that I’ve done everything perfectly, Ivanna. But I’ve doneeverythingwith you, your father, and those three men out there in mind. Carried it all the best I could.”
I nod and start for the door, believing at least in some capacity that’s true, when another nagging suspicion crashes over me. “There was a guy in college who hurt me. He—”
“Yes,” he avows, no faltering. “I killed that fucking rapist. And I won’t hesitate to kill anyone who dares to touch you or even thinks about harming you.”
My eyes close on a cleansing inhale-exhale cycle. I’m unsure what to do with that. Ambivalent. If I’m honest with myself, it speaks to my heart with some peculiar primal fluttering, like when a cat delivers a dead rat to their owner. Disturbing and endearing at once. But I can’t tarry there because it also enrages me. He knew. They all knew everything about me. My darkest moments.
Wells stands, stepping toward me, but suddenly thinks better of it and restrains himself, stashing his hands in his pockets. “Do not run alone. It isn’t safe. We can pace ourselves away from you, but I won’t allow you to go alone.”
I don’t answer, too infuriated, sick of the restrictions. He can choke on his fucking orders.
Heading for my old room, I pass the guys, who are all perched on the couch in the great room with coffees, flames flickering in the fireplace, like they’re the stars of a morning show. Their lingering eyes scream that I’m the top story and they’ve been gatheringquotes. They follow my every move, and while I’m not immature enough to spit fire like a dragon, as I’d prefer, I’m also not evolved enough to smile and ease their discomfort. I turn my back on them, but unfortunately, it’s me who loses. They all have each other, but as I shut the door to the empty room, the silence shouts how alone I am.
My thoughts have been spinning a million miles a minute. Time has warped to nothing, my existence distorting into a Salvador Dali painting—surreal with the burden of melting clocks.
I’ve sat on my old bed, in this dark room, for the entire day. The guys stop by, dangling gifts of meals and drinks at the locked door. I answer cordially, accept the offering, and promptly lock myself in again. I’m not one for the silent treatment. I prefer to unload my grievances and move on. But this is too much. I can’t have conversations with them when I don’t know what I’m thinking.
