“Jane Eyre Sinclair.” As John repeated her name, the veneer of mocking amusement left his features for a moment. He looked at Jane as though he was seeing an old friend. “Have we ever met before? When my father was still alive? As memory serves, my brothers and I once spent a summer in the Hamptons, on your father’s estate when we were kids. But honestly, I don’t remember you…”
His words trailed off, and Jane promptly turned back to the mirror, adjusting her dress while peering at herself with all the confidence and dignity she’d fought to uphold her whole life. “Of course you won’t, since I’m five years younger than you. I don’t expect people would know about me either. First of his bloodline, heir to none of it, that’s me. Father didn’t marry my mother Lynn until a long time after I came along. I may be his daughter, but I grew up with little more to look forward to than those Bronte books my mom insisted on reading me. My namesake, you know,” she added with a self-deprecating smile. “But my parents didn’t waste time in producing a couple of heirs to the Benedict dynasty—twins, in fact. George and Harry.”
“And your father died in a boating accident not long after they were born,” John finished for her, looking thoughtful now. “It was all over the news. I wondered what had happened to them.”
“What happened was that everything came crashing down around us.” She couldn’t help getting emotional. Her face went hot. “My mom followed my dad before too long. It was a car accident, they said. As much an ‘accident’ as my dad’s death,” she added, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “With the twins still very much children, dad’s younger brother, my uncle Alfred, took it upon himself to run the family business.”
“And?”
“And that’s why you don’t hear much about the poor orphaned Benedict children in the news anymore,” she said, turning and looking John in the eye. “He kicked us out of the family house the moment he could do so without a public scandal. S
omething about trust fund money that never reached us, conveniently. We’re threats to his plans, his ‘new dynasty.’ I’ve been raising George and Harry on my own.”
Jane suddenly felt an immense sense of satisfaction upon noticing that for the first time since laying eyes on John Alexander, he looked truly and utterly caught off guard.
But it didn’t last long, and John looked down on Jane with the same easy confidence again, smiling and using his fingers to lift her chin up to make her look at him more closely. “So this is a matter of money, then? You want a chance at the easy life that was taken from you?”
Jane jerked her head back and turned away with a scoff. “No. I want your name and the safety that comes with it. It’s the only way to keep my uncle off our back. I fear for the safety of my little brothers. I believe their lives are in danger.” As she spoke, she turned back to John, only to find him with his back to her, reaching outside for something.
“John!” she barked, suddenly furious at having opened her heart only to be brushed off so easily, “are you even listening?!”
“Every word, babe,” he said, turning around with a small black box in hand.
Jane blinked in confusion as he stepped forward.
“And all I have to say is that if what you said is true…” He opened the box to reveal a pair of gorgeous white-gold rings inside, glimmering in the light like a treasure.
Jane’s eyes widened.
“...then we must waste no time in getting married.”
She opened her mouth to speak again before John pressed a finger to her lips.
“It’s perfect. But first, I want to meet these twins of yours. After all,” he added with a smile, “we’ll need ring-bearers, won’t we? And after that we’ll go back to New York and meet my family. Our honeymoon will shine our life long: its beams will only fade over your grave or mine.”
Jane wasn’t impressed. “Did you just quote Mr. Rochester?”
His grin widened.
“Please, don’t do that again. Ever.”
* * *
Jane turned the key to the shoddy little motel she’d rented for her stay in Vegas. It was far from ideal, but it was entirely necessary to keep a low profile while she moved around after the twins’ “accidents.” She’d paid in cash and used a fake name in the registry; places like this didn’t ask any questions. Las Vegas was nice like that.
John couldn’t have looked more out of place, swathed from head to toe in designer brands and yet, he acted like he belonged here.
The door creaked open, and as she and John stepped inside, the faces of two nearly identical eight-year-old boys turned to greet them. George was sitting on the bed with a notebook in his hands, while Harry was on the floor playing with his video game console that she got him for Christmas.
“Welcome back, big sis. I trust you’ve concluded your business?” said George, giving her a nod and peering at John curiously.
“Janey, I’ve missed you,” chirped Harry, rushing up to hug Jane around the legs. “George was being a jerk. He won’t let me use the coffee machine.”
“Because you always break things,” said George, defensively.
“Do not!”
George scoffed. “We’re not having this argument again, Harry. It’s childish.”