We make love again that night, and we drift in and out of sleep between our explorations of each other’s bodies. It’s the best sleep I’ve had in recent memory. When I finally wake up, the sky has lightened a little—just enough to signal that dawn might not be too far away. It hasn’t stopped raining, but it’s still a light, peaceful drizzle.
Ward stirs beside me, as if somehow in his sleep he’s sensed me waking beside him. We’re still on the chaise lounge, our arms and legs twisted around each other, and his eyes drift slowly open. A smile curls across his lips, and he tilts his face forward and leaves a soft kiss on my temple.
“Can I ask you something?” I say softly.
“Mmhm.” He’s moving his mouth across my hair now, as if making up for the lost kisses during our earlier embrace.
There are so many things I want to say. To confess. But now that the moment’s here, I’m terrified. My tongue doesn’t want to move. Somehow, while I slept, I lost a bit of that emotional intimacy I felt between us last night. I need to find it again.
I take a deep breath. “Why are you here, if you hate it so much?”
His lips pause. I didn’t want to ruin this moment by overstepping my bounds, but before I completely change the way he looks at me, I want to know exactly where he’s coming from.
I pull back slightly from him so I can look him in the eyes.
“I mean, I know this is a good opportunity,” I say. “But you don’t seem happy. You don’t get along with anyone here. And you seem to loathe Carolson. I mean, I understand he’s a rich douche, but…”
I want to tell him what Asher said, but I don’t want him to think that’s why I’m bringing this up. I want to know the truth for me. For us. Whatever “us” is. And I want to know it for him—so I can help him heal from it, just as he’s been trying to help me.
I watch his face as he tries to put together his response.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he says finally.
“Of course I’ll believe it.”
“No, I mean that it’s going to sound ridiculous. At least ridiculous outside of a soap opera.”
You should meet my family, I think. But now I’m curious. I prop myself up on my elbow.
Ward rolls over onto his back and gazes up at the ceiling. “So, you know about my mom.”
I nod, not understanding.
“Her last year was rough. She couldn’t really work anymore, and the bills were piling up.” He sighs. “I did what I could. I’d been saving up. I was hoping I’d have enough in a few years to go back to school. Study architecture and all that.”
I reach out and touch his arm.
“But most of that money ended up going to her bills. I made sure her mortgage was paid, stuff like that. I didn’t want her to end up homeless if she… if she pulled through. In the end, it didn’t matter. Her assets were all sold off to pay off her debt.”
I know how that goes, I want to say. But I don’t interrupt him.
“So I was broke,” he continues. Then he shakes his head. “I say that like it’s some kind of excuse. It’s not. I couldn’t care less about the money.” He exhales loudly then rolls over onto his side, facing me again.
I search his eyes, but I can’t wade through all the emotion there.
“My mom said that knowing she was going to die changed her,” he says softly. “I remember her saying at one point that it was the best thing that could’ve happened to her because it made her see the world differently. It made her realize how blessed she was. And how stupid she’d been for holding on to past pain and regrets.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but she contacted my father. Told him she forgave him and thanked him for giving her the best thing in her life.”
“You,” I whisper.
He nods. “I didn’t realize she was in touch with him at all until the funeral. This guy walks up to me and starts talking to me and I knew. Immediately.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just strokes the back of my hand with his thumb.
“What did he say?” I prompt after a minute. “Who was he?”
But even as I ask the question, it hits me like a sledgehammer.
Holy crap.
He nods grimly, realizing I’ve worked it out. “Edward fucking Carolson.”
Holy friggin’ crap.
I should’ve realized this ages ago. I mean, it’s so obvious now. His anger toward Carolson was always so personal.
“I can’t…” I sit up. “I had no idea.”
Oh, God—is this what Asher suspected? If word gets out that Carolson has a secret illegitimate son, the press will have a field day. Especially considering Ward has a job here at Huntington Manor, the high-profile project that’s launched Carolson into the public eye.
“Who else knows?” I ask him.
He rubs his forehead. “Haymore, for one. Carolson made it very clear that I was to have and keep this job.”
That’s okay. Haymore would never risk his job by blabbing Carolson’s secrets. And it makes perfect sense now—this was why Ward was never fired, in spite of his behavior. It explains why Carolson didn’t do anything that day at the spa. But thinking of the fights makes me nervous.
“Do the other subcontractors know?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think they know everything, but it’s no secret that I’ve been given preferential treatment around here. That’s definitely pissed them off.”
That complicates things. A lot. If the other workers hate him, I doubt many would hesitate to sell him out if they learned the truth. Ward needs to get out of here before all hell breaks loose.
“One thing I still don’t get.” I lay my hand gently on his chest. “Why are you here? You’re obviously still angry with Carolson—for good reason. Why did you agree to this?”
“As I said, I was broke.” His hand closes over mine. “He offered me a lot of money to come down here. Basically double what I would’ve expected on a job like this. By the time this project is done, I’ll have enough for almost two years of school.” He squeezes my fingers. “But as I said before, that’s just the excuse I’ve been making to myself. The truth is, I spent my whole life wondering about my biological father. Hating him, yes, but I think there’s a part of me that was always hoping he’d come find me one day. That he’d want to be a part of my life. And in a sense, that’s what he did. He told me he wanted to make up for the things he’d done. He offered to pay my way through school, but there’s no way in hell I would’ve just accepted money from that man. So he told me he had a job for me down here.”
I have no words for him, so I just continue to stroke his chest.
“I thought…” he says. “Honestly, I don’t know what I thought. I certainly wasn’t stupid enough to think we’d be one big happy family or something. But I thought we might have the chance to… I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “But then I realized what a fraud he was. He’s a businessman. He sells you what you want to hear whenever it serves him in some way. He never had any interest in getting to know me. This was all just his way of dealing with a guilty conscience. He wanted to throw cash at me and feel like he’d done his duty toward me and my mom. He thinks that money solves everything. That it’s the answer to all of life’s problems. It’s bullshit.”
It’s certainly not hard to see where his hatred of the wealthy came from. I lie down next to him again and snuggle up against his side. He pulls me close to him.
“Why haven’t you quit?” I ask.
“I’ve thought about it. A lot.” He sighs. “I don’t know why I can’t. Obviously I’ve tried to get my ass fired a few times, but you can see how well that’s worked. Maybe I just…”
“You’re still holding out hope that he might show some normal human compassion?”
“No. I gave that up a while ago.”
We lie there in silence for a while.
“Does his family know?” I say finally.
“Only Troy, I think. Carolson’s pulled him into the family business and he noticed that I was getting a much larger salary than was normal. So the last time he and his father came down here, he sought me out.”
“And you told him?”
“Didn’t have to. He figured it out on his own. Apparently he’s well aware of his father’s many… indiscretions. Sometimes I think he hates his father almost as much as I do. I almost believe there’s a chance he might escape turning into that asshole one day.”
I smile, but it’s hard to enjoy the fact that he’s acknowledged a rich guy might be a decent person right now.
“One of the reporters suspects something,” I say. There’s no point in holding it back at this point.
Ward stiffens. “What do you mean?”
I sit up straight, suddenly feeling awkward. But I need to tell him.
“One of the reporters—Asher Julian—approached me and asked about your connection to Carolson. He saw that Carolson had brought you in from Chicago and he couldn’t figure out why.”
I watch Ward register this information. Even by the fluorescent lights, I can read the concern and confusion in his face.
“Why would he go to you?” he asks finally. “Do you think he’s talked to other people, too?”
“I don’t know about other people,” I say. “But he came to me because he somehow knows we’ve been… friendly. I don’t know when he saw us. But he thought I might know something.”
“And, what? He thought you’d just spit it out?”
There’s a brief flicker of joy at the realization that his first thought wasn’t to question whether or not I’d shared anything. He trusts me.
And that’s what makes this next part so hard.
Just do it, Lou. Just say it.
“He has some leverage against me,” I say.
That gets Ward’s attention. He sits up next to me, concerned. His fingers slip beneath my chin, and he turns my face toward his.
“What kind of leverage?” he says. “What did he do?”
I can sense the anger in his touch, see it in his eyes—but it’s not directed at me. It’s for me. On my behalf. He’s upset that Asher’s blackmailing me.
Just spit it out. Just tell him.
But it’s hard to admit to my lie when he’s looking at me like that. I pull away from him and stand up. I’m very fully aware that I’m still naked, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. Ward is watching me, but I don’t look at him. I just let the burn of his gaze sink into my skin.
“You’ve explained to me why you stay here, even though you hate it,” I say finally. “But I never gave you my reasons.”
He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare. I’ve started pacing, trying to find the right words.
Say it, Lou.
“The truth is…” I begin, closing my eyes.
SAY IT.
“The truth is, this used to be my home.” The words are hardly more than a whisper.
He continues to be silent for what feels like an eternity. My stomach is one giant knot as I slowly peel my eyes open again.
“What do you mean by that?” he says, though I can tell the wheels are already working in his head.
“I grew up here,” I say. “Addison Thomas isn’t my real name. It’s Louisa Cunningham.”
Though I know he’s arrived at that answer before I say it out loud, my words confirm his fears. His entire demeanor changes.
“You’re…”
“Louisa Cunningham,” I say again. “Though most people I know call me Lou.”
He stands suddenly, then laughs. But it’s not a happy, carefree sound. It’s strained, confused.
“You’re joking, right?” he says.
I don’t respond.
He shakes his head, incredulous. “The Louisa Cunningham?”
This time I give a single nod.
But Ward still can’t seem to accept it. “Why the hell are you here? Working as Haymore’s assistant?”
“It’s hard to explain.” My nakedness feels like more of an issue now, and I cross my arms across my chest. Not that it hides much.
“Who knows?” he asks. “Haymore?”
“No, of course not. No one knows. No one here, at least. Except you. And that reporter. That’s what he was using to threaten me.”
“So you… what?” he says. “Decided to come back here on a whim? Decided to play spy or something?”
“I’m not spying,” I say. “It’s not like I can just run off and report everything I’ve seen here and have some mighty influential power sweep in and fix things. No one cares what my opinion is on the changes they’ve made here. And even if they did, there’s nothing I or anyone I know can do about it.”
“I don’t get it,” he says. He’s truly agitated. Far more upset than I expected him to be at this stage. Deep down inside of me, I thought he might actually understand.
“I needed closure,” I say. “But I couldn’t just waltz over here and give myself the grand tour. Even if they let me have a look around, which I doubt, you know they would’ve been watching me. ‘Oh, how’s poor little Lou dealing with her family’s downfall?’ I needed to figure some things out, and I needed to do it on my own. Without every news outlet breathing down my neck.” I’m starting to sound a little deranged, but I don’t care. I’m exhausted. My body feels like it could give out at any minute. And Ward’s looking at me in a way that breaks my heart.
“Look,” I say desperately. “I know you don’t think very highly of my family. Or anyone with money. But—”
“Is that what you think I’m upset about? The money?”
I tighten my arms across my chest. “I seem to remember some heated conversations in which you made your opinion on rich people very clear. Well, I don’t have money anymore. And I probably won’t for a long time.” My mind is reeling. In spite of my fear, I thought he’d get it. I thought he might see where I was coming from.
He shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear anything I just said to you? It’s not the money. It’s the attitude that the whole world revolves around you. The idea that you can get away with whatever you want, at anyone’s expense, because of your name or the bills in your pocket. Did you ever once stop to think about the people who you were lying to?”
And there it is—the pain. In his eyes. In every rigid line of his body. This isn’t some fairy tale where the lowly cowherd reveals himself as a prince and carries his true love off to his castle to live happily ever after. This is the real world.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” I say. “Or anyone. I know I lied about my name, but I promise, everything else I said to you was true. Every joke. Every opinion. All of it.”
“All of it? You didn’t tell me half of it.”
“You kept things from me, too,” I whisper. “You hid the truth about your family.”
“Yeah, I didn’t give you my life story. But I never lied about my name.”
“It’s just a name.”
“It’s more than just a name, and you know it,” he says. “But even if it were, you’re okay with the fact that I’ve been calling you by some made-up name when we were fucking?”
Fucking. I flinch at the word.
“No, it’s not okay. I hated it. But I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“It’s simple. You should have just opened your mouth and told me.”
It’s not simple. I don’t care what he says. I can’t believe I thought he might understand this. I guess I’m an idiot on top of being a selfish, lying bitch.
I can feel the panic coming on. Feel it snaking up my arms and legs. I’m breathing too fast. I need to get out of here. I turn around and go for my clothes, snatching them up piece by piece.
Behind me, Ward lets out a breath. “Come on, Addi—Louisa.” The name sounds strange coming from him.
“Come on, let’s what?” I hear myself say. It doesn’t sound like me. “Go over the ways in which I’m a terrible person? Don’t worry. I get it.” I pull my tank top over my head. “Forgive me for trying to open up to you.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what? Annoyed with myself for thinking you might understand? Screw it. I guess we’re more different than I thought. But don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.” Even as I say it, I curse myself for turning this around on him. I deserve it. I brought this upon myself.
“Don’t make this my fault. I’m not the one who lied.” He seems to have realized that I’m not going to sit back down, so he’s started reaching for his own clothes.
I throw up my hands. “I get it. I’m a terrible, selfish person. I lied about my name to protect myself and I didn’t think about how that might make you feel. I’m used to doing whatever the heck I want to, and that makes me no different than Carolson and anyone else who’s screwed you over.” There are tears running down my cheeks, but I can’t stop them. My heart is in my throat, trying to squeeze out my breath, but somehow I can’t shut up. “I’m a bitch. A horrible, self-centered bitch. I lie. I use people. And I’m used to getting away with it.”
I’m fully dressed now, and I turn and storm to the door. Ward calls to me, but I’m already on the stairs. Running.
It’s easy to run. It hurts, at the end of the day, but it’s easy. And it’s kind of a pattern for me.
I hate this place. I hate the people here. I hate the spa and the crafts cottages and those stupid cherubs that are everywhere. They seem to mock me as I run past, laughing at me and pointing with their chubby fists. How did I ever delude myself into thinking that coming back here would be good for me? That it would help me find peace? It was self-torture, plain and simple. A way to pay my penance for the things I’ve done.
But it’s over. I’m finished with it all. There’s no hope for me.
I don’t go back to my room. Instead, I let my feet carry me downstairs. My body seems to know what I want to do before my brain does. I find myself in front of a supply closet, and inside I find a can of the white paint they’ve been using to touch up the moldings.
My next stop is the formal dining room. I walk right up to the head table, plop down the can of paint, and look up at the portraits. My eyes lock on the one of Carolson. He’s wearing his usual plastic smile in this picture. His perfect mask, devoid of all real emotion. But maybe the photographer was extra gifted, or maybe it’s just because this image has been blown up to such a massive size, but I think I see something in his eyes, too—something proud and aloof. This is the man who destroyed everything. The man who took away my home. The man who screwed over Ward and his mother.
I turn and yank the lid off the paint can. I forgot to grab a brush, but that doesn’t matter at this point. In one motion, I turn and throw the entire contents of the can up at the portrait. It hits with a splatter, speckling me and the ground and the wall on either side. The paint runs in globs down across Carolson’s face, and it looks appropriately like a big wad of bird crap.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say in a mocking voice. “How does it feel? How does it feel to have the world shit on you?” I back away slowly, but even I’m not disturbed enough to think that a portrait might answer me.
I take the long way back up to my room. Now that I’ve defaced the portrait, I feel strangely calm. I’ve finally made the decision to pack my things and leave this place. I feel lighter already.
Part of me expects—hopes—to find Ward waiting for me at my room, but there’s no one there. It’s better this way, I know. Ward was just another distraction, wasn’t he? Another excuse to forget about the horrible things I’ve done. Now I’ve told him the truth, and his reaction was my answer.
Still, something in me aches as I throw my things in my suitcase. This was different. It wasn’t like it was with Ian, when I took comfort and gave nothing in return.
I’m crying again as I zip up my suitcase. But they’re quiet tears. I tell myself they’re washing away all of these confusing emotions. Getting them out of my system. I need to get away from here. Away from my memories and from Carolson and from Ward. I need to go somewhere where I won’t feel completely insane. Somewhere that won’t erode my sanity from the inside out.
I reach up and touch my cheek, feel the wet tracks left by the tears. If only it were so easy to let everything fall away. Let the tears carry my emotions away. Let the skies open and flood all the toxicity out of this house. I glance up at the ceiling. If only the rain could seep down through the roof and—
And maybe I can’t have rain, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get this place a little wet.
There’s a sprinkler in here. There’s one in every room—several in the larger ones. The sprinkler system was one of the many updates they had to make to the house to bring it up to code.
I don’t stop to think. My hair straightener is still on the dresser. I switch it on and look around for something flammable while it heats up. After a few minutes I find the welcome packet Mr. Haymore gave me on my first day stashed under the bed. I yank it out and rip off a piece of paper.
It’s a lot harder to set paper on fire with a straightener than I imagined it would be, but eventually it starts to smoke. The smell is awful, but I don’t care. I leap up onto my bed and hold the stinky, smoldering piece of paper right beneath the sprinkler.
Please, let this work…
It takes a few minutes, but finally I’m rewarded by the fzzzz of it coming to life. Water rains down over me. And if the system’s working properly, it should be starting to rain down in other places, too.
And right on cue, the fire alarm goes off. It’s so loud I wince and nearly fall off the bed, but I manage to get down without breaking my neck. I grab my bag and head out into the hall.
It’s chaos. People are shrieking, running out of their rooms in whatever they wore to bed. Some still look dazed and half-asleep, while others are wide-eyed and clutching prized possessions under their arms, trying to keep them dry. I walk calmly through them all.
But if I thought the employee hall was bad, it’s nothing compared to the madness occurring on the hall where they put all the press people. They’re just as confused as the staff members, probably more so, but most of them are still trying to get their equipment up and running so they can document this whole catastrophe.
“Where’s the fire?” someone shouts down the hall in complete seriousness. “Anyone know what’s going on?” These idiots are willing to charge headfirst toward a blaze for the chance at a good story.
Well, at least some of them are. It’s not hard to spot Asher among the crowd—he’s got a coat wrapped around what I’m assuming is his brand new fancy computer, but I suspect the sprinklers already did their damage. He looks pissed.
I smile a little to myself as I pass. Karma’s a bitch.
And then I make my way down the stairs, ready for freedom.