There’s a strong family resemblance between him and his son. They both have the same dark features, height, and athletic build. One difference is the cold calculatedness that radiates from Keaton’s eyes, freezing me to the core every time I come in contact with him. It’s the reason I’ve gone out of my way to avoid his presence. Now that I’m being forced to live under the same roof, it’ll be more of a challenge.
“Ah, Ms. Hawthorne, so lovely to see you again.” His lips lift into a thin smile that doesn’t reach the iciness of his eyes as he continues toward me. “I trust you’ve settled in and are enjoying your accommodations?”
Not really.
The question is borne out of politeness rather than actual concern.
“Yes.” I straighten to my full height and hold my ground, even though I’m sorely tempted to turn tail and run. “Thank you.”
“Oh, it’s my pleasure.” Once he reaches the last tread, the soles of his polished-to-a-high shine wingtips strike the marble as he strolls toward me. “I must confess that it’s nice to have a female in the house again.”
I swallow, unsure how to respond to the bizarre comment. I’m almost tempted to ask where his wife is.
Alive and well?
Buried in the backyard?
It’s not a comforting thought.
“I trust my son has played the part of gracious host and made sure you have everything you could desire?”
Ha!
Gracious host indeed…
It takes willpower to rein in the snort.
“Yup.” I force another lie from my lips. I’m loath to ask anything of this man, but I have to at least try to appeal to his conscience.
If he has one.
“I hope you realize this wasn’t necessary.” When he quirks a brow, I rush to add, “Me living here. My parents weren’t trying to cheat you out of your share of Hawthorne Industries. All they wanted was a fair resolution to the situation that didn’t include forcing Kingsley and me into marriage.”
He nods, a thoughtful expression flickering across his face. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve reached him and he’ll allow me to return home. He and my mother can straighten out the company business between themselves instead of tangling their children up in the mess.
“I’m afraid, my dear, that your parents sealed your fate when they attempted to break the contract.” He steps closer, invading my personal space. “I’m sure you can understand that I had no choice in the matter. I won’t allow anything more to be stolen from my family.” He reaches out, trailing his knuckles along the curve of my jaw. “You, unfortunately, are nothing more than a pawn.” His pupils dilate. “Although, I have to admit that you’re a very pretty pawn. My son is a lucky man.”
Fear slithers through me as my mouth turns cottony. Both his touch and words have me jerking away as if I’ve been burned.
He smiles as his hand drops to his side. “Do not fret, Ms. Hawthorne, you’ll find living here quite palatable. Mrs. Fieber is an excellent cook. Dinner is always served promptly in the dining room at seven.”
Before I can tell him to go to hell, he saunters away, leaving me alone in the echoing foyer. The breath rushes from my lungs as I tighten the strap of my backpack against my shoulder and race up the stairs, trying to remember the way to the bedroom. Maybe I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs this morning.
It takes a few attempts before I finally stumble across the room that is now mine and slam the door shut before twisting the lock. Only then does the tightly coiled tension drain away, leaving me to feel weak in the knees.
It’s so tempting to allow the tears to well in my eyes, but falling to pieces won’t solve a damn thing. I have to keep it together. I take my backpack and head to the balcony before settling at one of the small tables and spreading out my homework. For the next couple of hours, I plow my way through two missing calculus assignments from last week and then spend the rest of the evening studying for an AP psychology quiz.
As submerged in my studies as I am, I can’t help but nervously eye the time on my phone. When seven o’clock comes and goes, the tension gradually seeps from my body. After Keaton mentioned the evening meal, I was afraid they might force me to dine with them. It’s doubtful I could deal with both Keaton and Kingsley at the same time. I’m barely able to handle them separately.
Around eight o’clock, I pause and stretch my hunched muscles, glancing around the outdoor space. The balcony off my bedroom at home is cramped, but it was enough to have a tiny cafe-style table and two chairs. This deck stretches across the entire back of the mansion. About twenty feet away, I spot a telescope. Surprised by the discovery, I sit up a little straighter and study it from afar.