Stepbrother's Secret

Grinding my back teeth, I open the apartment door and gesture for her to precede me inside. She does so with wide blue eyes, her hands coming up to lay flat on her cheeks. “Oh my lord.” Her steps slow. “This can’t be where I’m sleepin’.”

If things were different, she’d be sleeping in my bed.

I’d be fucking her in it.

I’d never let her out.

But things aren’t different. She’s my eighteen-year-old stepsister and a non-platonic relationship with her would tank my career. I’d never hold office again. And maybe I’m idealistic, but this is a job I believe in. I kick my ass every day of the week to make sure I keep my promises to voters. Furthermore, I take pleasure in exposing my colleagues who don’t keep theirs. Since I was young, my dream has been the White House. Several people on my team, including my father, are counting on me to make that happen. I can make a difference there. And dammit, I have more willpower than this, don’t I?

Heart in my mouth, I watch Cate circle the apartment. She inches toward the balcony door like a kitten on a ledge, her fingers crammed against her lips. “I’ve never been up this high,” she whispers shakily.

“I wouldn’t bring you anywhere that isn’t safe.” My voice resonates with that promise. A hunger for her trust. “You know that, don’t you, Cate?

She looks at me and nods solemnly. As if she senses how much her answer means. “I know, Tristan.”

The way she whispers my name like a prayer helps nothing. It’s already tattooed on my brain. I’m going to hear it in my sleep. Replaying in my head every second of the day. “The bellman will bring up your suitcase. And I’ve asked one of my assistants to leave some toiletries in the en suite bathroom. Food in the fridge.” I search the entry table for what I’m looking for, picking it up. “This is a phone with my number programmed inside, as well as your mother’s. If you need anything at all, or there’s something you don’t understand, call me. I will always pick up. Okay?”

Cate blinks. “Are you leaving?”

“I have to leave,” I answer, barely recognizing my ragged voice. “I’m going to have a tutor here to begin your lessons at noon tomorrow.”

She nods, her gaze straying to the twinkling lights of Hartford stretching beyond the balcony. “How long will I have to do the lessons?

Again, I struggle with the prospect of changing a single thing about her. But if she’s going to be a visible member of the family, I want her to be prepared. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if she was caught off guard by a question and ridiculed by the press. “Long enough to make you comfortable.”

I was struck by her astuteness on the drive over, when she asked if her mother missed her or wanted to avoid a scandal. And I’m struck by it again when she asks, “Is it really me you want to make comfortable?” Before I can answer, she’s wandered into the bedroom and I don’t follow her there. I can’t.

I leave the apartment feeling like my chest has been razed.

I yank on my tie in the elevator, loosening it so I can breathe, my instincts imploring me to get back out of the elevator. Return to the apartment. Cate.

No. Do not go back.

Do not go back there.

I manage to remain in place, staring at my reflection in the elevator mirror without really seeing it. Only hearing her voice in my head.

Is it really me you want to make comfortable?

I walk into the lobby with a gut full of bullet holes, rounding the corner to the security office without hesitation. Knocking on the door.

A bald man in a headset answers, his expression smug.

He looks me over, like he knew it all along. Like he knew I wasn’t the altruistic man I portray on television or in the papers. Maybe I’m not. “Hello, Governor Garner.”

Behind him, there is a wall of monitors. Footage feeding through the cameras in the elevators, hallways, common areas. “Erase the footage,” I say through my teeth.

He tosses a chip into his mouth. “How much?”

My jaw strains until it comes close to snapping. And maybe I’m not altruistic at all. Maybe I’m not smart enough to stay away from the one thing that could wreck my chances at the White House. Because against my good judgment, I say, “Here’s a better question. How much to make sure the cameras stay off whenever I’m in the building?”

* * *

I’m in a meeting with staffers the following afternoon when my phone rings.

Every moment since I left Cate she has filled my thoughts, so when her tutor’s number flashes across the screen of my cell, I answer immediately, starved for a morsel of information about my stepsister. A hint at her progress. A whisper of her voice in the background. Give me anything.