Stepbrother's Secret

Well.

My stepfather is aware of my relationship with his son now. But I recall Elton’s face when he opened the door and he wasn’t surprised. It was almost as though he expected to find Tristan and me entangled on the desk. It was also obvious he isn’t happy about it.

I avoid Elton’s gaze as I enter the spacious entryway, although his attention burns along my shoulders. Two dozen or so guests milling around making small talk, receiving glasses of bubbly champagne from silver trays. Jewelry from the female guests winks in the candlelight, uniformed waitresses easily weave in and out of groups unnoticed. The men, coiffed and dapper in their suits, eye me with interest. Maybe even with lust, which I now recognize.

When my presence in the room begins to be the cause of speculation, Mama clinks a spoon to her champagne flute. “Thank you so much for coming, everyone. We’re glad you could make it. We’ve invited you to dinner at Governor Garner’s home this evening for dinner, but we must confess to an ulterior motive.” She smiles warmly at my stepbrother, who is standing just beyond my shoulder. “Governor, would you like to do the honors?”

“Yes, thank you, Rebecca.”

Tristan’s professional tone is so different from the one that rasps in my ear. Robust and confident, but definitely no less sexy. I paste a fond smile onto my face and turn to meet his eyes, my hands folded politely at my waist. The way I practiced with my etiquette instructor when we went over the proper behavior when introduced tonight.

A flicker of heat passes through his eyes and my core clenches, the moment passing too quickly for anyone to notice but the two of us.

No one will ever know about the two of us.

I’ve known this. But somehow having the collar around my neck makes the realization hit harder. Hit…differently. We could stay together forever, but only ever in secret. There will be no wedding. No children. Just secrecy. Hidden symbolism under my clothes, just like the love bruises and bites he leaves on me.

My thoughts must show on my face because Tristan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly, before he continues.

“We have a new addition to the Garner family. It is my honor to present you Miss Cate Worthington. My stepsister and Rebecca’s daughter from a previous marriage.” He smiles right through the ensuing commotion. “Until recently, she was living with her father down south, but she’s chosen to make her home in Connecticut and we couldn’t be more pleased to have her.”

Remembering what I was taught, I make sure to look at least five people in the eye and smile, nothing to hide. If I pretend there is nothing out of the ordinary, they won’t go digging into my past and find out my father died a year ago. That I was a minor left to my own devices. Or that Rebecca had walked out on her family to marry Elton.

“Thank you,” I say smoothly, accepting a champagne glass from one of the passing trays, holding it up. “I’m too young to drink this. You won’t tell anyone, will you?” I laugh and the room laughs along with me. “I look forward to meeting all of you.” Two men, who appear to be reporters, scribble onto notepads and absently, I notice one of them is wearing Superman cuff links. “In the meantime, thank you to my mother, stepfather and the governor for welcoming me so warmly into the fold. Cheers, everyone.”

The next hour is a blur.

Mama escorts me from group to group and I answer questions about life in the south. Questions about the heat, mostly. For some reason these people are super fixated on weather. I deftly avoid any specific mention of the town where I lived and my father’s name. Distracted by ample champagne and the appetizer service, no one seems to find anything amiss, nor do they see fit to question my mother about her previous marriage.

An older woman pulls Mama to the side to speak about a political proposal and I’m left alone for the first time in an hour. My mouth hurts from talking, so I fade into the shadows and take the opportunity to recharge, automatically seeking out Tristan with my gaze. And there he is, across the room, looking presidential and formidable, men gathered around him and hanging on every word. Mid-sentence, his attention zeroes in on me and heats, causing a low tug in my belly.

I avert my eyes, but run a finger along the jewelry beneath my clothes and I know he sees me, because I hear him clear his throat hard.

Smiling to myself, I start to venture toward the backyard for some fresh air, but a young man steps into my path. “Miss Worthington? I was hoping I’d have a chance to say hello.” His eyes seem kind, so I shake the hand he offers, smiling back. “I’m Greg Turner. One of the governor’s junior advisors.” His smile is broad, revealing a crooked front tooth. “I was wondering if you were planning to work for the campaign.”