Stepbrother's Secret

The door closes on the final guest and I hold my breath.

“The catering staff is still afoot,” Rebecca says quietly. “Let’s be mindful of that.”

A beat passes. And then my stepbrother is threading his fingers through mine, leading me down toward the east wing of the house, our parents hurrying behind us to keep up. He closes the four of us inside a large study I haven’t been inside before.

“I’ll ask again,” Tristan says, enunciating each word in his father’s direction. “What did you say to Cate to make her upset?”

As he asks the question, I’m reeled into his arms and held tightly against his chest.

His thumb strums my spine and I hear my mother’s intake of breath. Her realization that there’s a lot more than meets the eye to my relationship with Tristan—and I find myself unconcerned about her judgment. I knew exactly what I was doing entering into this relationship. Just like I learned how to make my own decisions when she left. “Oh, Cate…”

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t obvious,” snaps Elton, interrupting his wife. “She’s the dirty little secret that’s going to keep you out of the White House. It’s a fact.”

Tristan bristles, the skin of his throat heating against my forehead. “How dare you speak to her like that,” he growls. “There’s nothing dirty about her. Cate, do not listen to him.”

“Why not? He’s right,” I croak, pushing out of Tristan’s hold. Looking up into his handsome face, so stunned over my pronouncement. “You can’t tell anyone about me. You can’t hold my hand or kiss me in public. We’ll have to sneak around. Forever. And I thought…it was so stupid to think if I become a lady, that might change. Of course it won’t. It can’t. Not without ruining your life.” He says my name raggedly, his expression shocked, but I swipe at my tears and press on before he can continue. “And I don’t want to do that, Tristan. I don’t want to be some huge liability to you. Not when you could be president one day. M-maybe I should go back to North Carolina and—”

“No.” Tristan seizes my arms, a crazed expression on his face. “Take yourself away from me? Leave me? Do you think I would survive that?”

In my periphery, I see my mother sink onto an ottoman, hands covering her mouth.

“He said you would never put me before your political career,” I whisper, moisture raining down my cheeks, dripping off my chin. “And you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t throw it all away for me. Don’t let me ruin you. I’m…” I gesture to the expensive dress. “This isn’t even me. This is just what you want me to be. And if the old me wasn’t good enough, then I’m not.”

“No. No.” Tristan gets down on his knees, burying the crown of his head in my stomach and gathering me close. “I didn’t want to change a single thing about you, baby. You were perfect. You are perfect. I just wanted to protect you and I let it get too far. Goddammit, Cate, I’ve been in love with you since the glen. I wanted you any way I could get you.”

I want to believe him, but I don’t know if I can. Here I am in these uncomfortable shoes after a night of speaking in someone else’s voice.

And Tristan sees the doubt in my eyes. It forces a gruff denial from his throat. Faster than I can track his movements, he’s on his feet, throwing open the doors of the study.

“Where are you going?” shouts Elton.

“To drag the damn reporter back. We’re making this right.”

What does he mean? Make this right?

With my heart in my throat, I run out of the room after Tristan, but his long stride means he’s already eaten up a lot of ground. He throws open the front door and pauses, moving again once he spies who he’s looking for. Everyone else has gone, taillights disappearing down the long driveway. All except for one guest. One of the reporters I saw earlier, the one with the Superman cuff links, is smoking a cigarette beside his car. He stubs it out under his toe and prepares to climb into his vehicle, but pauses when he sees Tristan thundering in his direction.

“You,” Tristan barks, “How about an exclusive?”

“Sure,” the man answers automatically, fumbling for a pen in his jacket. “Do you mind if I record this on my phone?”

“Be my guest.”

By this time, our parents have joined us outside. I manage to tear my attention off Tristan long enough to see my mother appears apprehensive, confused, while my stepfather is panicked. “Tristan, don’t do this. Don’t throw it away for nothing.”

“Nothing?” Slowly, he turns, his eyes glittering even in the darkness. “Try everything. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m doing what I have to do to keep what matters most. Her.” His eyes find me a few feet away and I suck in a breath at the intensity there. “I deserve to start from scratch for letting her think for one fucking second that she wasn’t good enough. I hurt the girl who I love. And that makes me not good enough.”