My father’s face turned the color of ash before his knees buckled, and he collapsed heavily onto the edge of the sofa. He propped his elbows on his thighs and hung his head forward.
Between one beat and the next, Taylor was on his feet, his hand closing around my arm and pulling me upright. “You should be ashamed of yourselves,” he snapped, as he steered me toward the door.
There, I paused for a moment, rolling my shoulders back and lifting my chin—the act of a man fighting to control his emotions. The act of a man who never wanted to let these people see him break.
I reached for the doorknob just as my mother’s voice cut through the silence. “Wait! There’s something you should know.”
I turned around slowly, as if moving through sludge, to find her staring down at my father, her eyes narrowed in contempt. My mother wasn’t the type to blurt things out. She was measured and very nearly always in control of her emotions. It was something I’d always admired about her. A trait I’d once been proud to have inherited myself.
“Tell him, Charles,” she hissed.
My father’s head shot up. “Bernadette. No.”
“If you don’t, I will, and so help me god, you won’t like my version of this story.” She crossed her arms over her chest, which rose and fell with harsh, angry breaths.
My father exhaled loudly, his shoulders falling, and then … nothing. He just sat there, looking for all the world like a man who’d simply given up.
“Tell me what?” I asked, dragging my attention back to my mother.
“The man sitting here lecturing you about respect has been living a double life for the better part of thirty years.”
I heard the words, understanding each one individually, but together, they formed a statement I couldn’t fathom. “What are you talking about?”
“Your father has a second family in Georgetown—a woman he’s been with for god only knows how many years. They have a twenty-six-year-old daughter he’s never claimed publicly.” She lifted her martini to her lips and emptied it in one giant gulp, eschewing the ladylike sips she’d been taking all evening.
Fuck.
I had a sister—a person I could have known, an ally in this fucked up world my parents occupied, and nobody had ever thought to mention it to me.
Taylor’s hand closed around mine, and I turned briefly to look at him. To anchor myself once again in his presence when it felt like everything was spinning out of control. He gave my hand a firm squeeze and held on.
I refocused my attention on my mother, recognizing that my father was essentially useless to me right now. “What’s her name?”
She slammed her glass down on the table, and it shattered, shards of glass flying in every direction. “It doesn’t matter what her name is,” she bellowed. “She’s a nobody. Irrelevant.”
She looked down at the mess she'd caused, her expression going blank. It was somehow worse than the outrage had been. At least that had felt human.
“She’s my sister,” I whispered. “That matters to me.”
My father raised his head slowly, looking like he’d aged ten years in one night. “I tried to protect this family,” he said, his voice stripped of emotion. “I know you don’t believe that, but I did.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked, sliding my hand from Taylor’s to tunnel my fingers through my hair, linking my fingers atop my head, and blowing out a breath.
“Itmeansthat when your father’s friendsat The Stratford Institute found out,” my mother sneered, “they made it clear that nothing less than total, unconditional loyalty to their agenda would suffice. Itmeans, for twenty years, every time they’ve said ‘jump,’ we ask, ‘how high?’”
I let my hands fall limply to my sides, comprehension washing over me.
“You chose loyalty to them over me.”
My father bounded to his feet. “I don’t think you understand. It’s?—”
“Oh, I understandperfectly,” I snarled. “Your secret—your comfort—was worth more than your son’s safety and dignity.”
I needed to get the fuck out of this place. To not be here when I eventually crashed, which, by the shaking in my hands and the sweat prickling my brow, I could tell was fast approaching.
I spun on my heel, yanked open the door, and stormed out, Taylor at my side.
“Sebastian, wait!” my mother called, rushing after us, the click-clack of her heels muffled by thick carpet.
