Incendiary (20 page)

Shock yields quickly to anger and he grabs my neck. “Don’t ever fucking discuss my sister, you little piece of nothing slut. You believe Sloane, your murdering rock star. All he had to do was make you one of his skanks and keep his cock stuck down your throat. Believe him. That’s up to you. There are pictures proving his guilt, cocksucker.”

His hold around my neck isn’t tight. He’s doing it to intimidate me. If he put some of his stupid bitterness to helping Sloane, they’d come out on top. “He’s your brother. Think about how your father is. The way he’s manipulated everyone. Sloane’s a lot of things, but he isn’t a murderer.”

Using my throat as leverage, he shakes me. “Only a rapist, according to you. Right, Georgiana? And according to
you
, a deceitful liar who’s threatened my money, he isn’t a killer.”

“Kiln.” Maybe, saying his name will bring humanity back to him and reduce his building rage. Lowering my lashes, I cede control to him and drop the subject before he strangles me. “I need a shower and stuff,” I mumble.

His silence unnerves me. I glance at him and flush at his sexually degrading consideration.

Releasing my neck, he rubs a finger along my cheek. “Do you need clothes? A dick suck gets you whatever you want. Drugs. Clothes. A skin flick deal.”

Backing away, I go to Bryn’s bed. She’s on her back, resting contentedly and sleeping again.

My head starts to pound. “C-can you leave, Kiln? I’ll…” What? I don’t know. I’m just scared.

Sloane and I should be perfect for one another with such similar backgrounds. Except we disappointed each other, too.

My door opens and I blink.

“What are you doing in here, Kiln?”

I look toward the sound of the familiar voice of Abby, whom I met months ago. She even got me into one of Sloane’s concerts, before I knew she was sleeping with my dad and helped drive my mother insane.
Um, more insane.

“What are you doing in here, Abby?” Kiln throws back at her.

She holds up several, big black and pink shopping bags. “Clothes for Georgie.”

“Well, leave them over there so I can finish up with her.”

Abby sits on the bed, crossing her long legs and placing the bags on the floor. She’s wearing a red zebra print blouse with black shorts and heeled sandals, and she looks as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Unlike me.
“How about I call Sloane and tell him you’re in here fucking with Georgie?”

Kiln’s intimidating stare is unsuccessful. He stomps away and slams my door shut.

The moment he leaves, she glances at me. “Did he do anything Sloane should know about?”

“No.” I don’t sound too friendly. I’m not sure why she’s here, even though she’s insinuated she’s bought me clothes. Mom and Grandma purchased clothes for me, too.

“If you don’t want me here I understand, but Sloane wants me to help you. Be your assistant. I told him I wouldn’t force you to accept me. So it’s up to you, honey.”

“My assistant?” Is Sloane insane? “I’m not important, so I don’t need an assistant.”

“You’re very important. You have Sloane’s daughter. It doesn’t matter who believes otherwise.
We
know the truth.” Winking at me, she smiles. “Besides, you’re Helen Sanderson’s granddaughter. That definitely qualifies you as important.”

I giggle at her teasing. “I’m just me.”

“Well, just you, you’re important
because
you’re you. Don’t forget that.” She swallows. “You’re Parnell’s pride and joy.”

In a roundabout way, she’s acknowledging the affair she had with Dad. Our gazes meet and so many questions pop into my head. How did she meet Dad? Did she know he was married? Why would she sleep with him if she did? Does she know why Dad cheated on Mom?

She isn’t rushing me or judging me. I relax a little, still finding it difficult to wrap my head around the fact she’s Sloane’s aunt. She’s almost as young as he is.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

She smiles gently and cocks her head to the side. “Do you know how old I am?”

“No.”

“Would you like to know?”

I nod. “I’m so curious.”

“I’m almost twenty-nine. My father was an asshole just like Rand is. Two sets of children. My mother? She was twenty-two. Dad was three times her age and then some. Can you say gold digger and dirty old bastard? The result is…” She indicates herself with a sweep of her hand. “Mom’s fifty now and married to an eighty-year-old. He’s going to croak any day. So did I miss anything? What else do you want to know, hun?”

Her tongue-in-cheek story covers a lot of background, but answers none of my questions about my parents. “Why’d you sleep with my dad?”

At her blank face, I think I’ve offended her, until she shrugs. “I was bored and lonely, Georgie. He gave me the classic I-am-a-miserable-married-man. I fell for it. Did I encourage him to bring other people into his bed so your mother would easily accept me? Yes. He didn’t want to get a divorce, but he said he wanted us together and he didn’t want to sneak around. That was my solution.” She grabs one of the bags and pours clothes out on the bed, no longer looking at me. “What else?” The small tremble in her voice destroys her attempt at nonchalance. She thinks I’m going to be mean to her. I barely understand all that went on and I’ve done my own stupid things, so it’s hypocritical to judge her.

“I, um, I need a shower. Will you watch Bryn?”

Widening her eyes in shock, she pauses. After a brief consideration of me, she’s a flurry of activity again, shaking out a very cute nightgown. “Go ahead.”

“O-okay.” At the bathroom door, I halt, afraid to trust her. Afraid to hope I can even
think
of trusting her.

“Are you sure you’ll be here when I get out? You won’t take Bryn from me?”

She raises her right hand. “Cross my heart and hope to die. I have an idea, by the way.”

“You’re full of them, aren’t you?” I say with a half-smile.

“You can say that,” she says brightly.

“What’s your idea?”

“That bathroom is ridiculous in its comfort. How about I get the baby and find a seat in there while you shower?”

I swallow and a kernel of hope grows inside of me. “Really?”

She springs to her feet. “As a matter-of-fact, you sit down and I’ll lay out your towels and whatever else you need. That’s what an assistant does, right?”

“I guess,” I answer with a shrug. “I’ve never had one.”

“Neither have I, so let’s learn together.”

“Okay, but Bryn will be awake in about forty-five minutes,” I say glumly, wanting to sleep and rejuvenate myself. “She wakes up without fail every couple of hours.”

“Then let’s get a move on.”

By the time Bryn starts to cry, I’ve showered, taken care of my hair, eaten cereal, raw fruit, and drank freshly-squeezed grapefruit juice.

Before I move from the table in the sitting room, Abby brings Bryn to me. I spend the day holding my daughter, even while she sleeps, looking through a stack of magazines and listening to Abby regale me with her escapades.

“You want what?”

Mother’s incredulity annoys me. At least she affords me a small glance before she returns to the documents in front of her on her desk. I don’t understand why she’s so shocked I’d want to raise Bryn. It’s been two days since I presented my idea to Parnell, and I’ve only just been able to meet with Mother.

“Bryn. Georgie’s baby. Parnell wants me and him to reconnect with our daughter and raise our granddaughter.”

She turns the page on the contract she’s reading. We’re in Mother’s home office, but it’s far from dainty. It isn’t even masculine. The Eighteen Century French Provincial furnishings and dark red décor are hideous.

Clearing her throat, she makes a notation before she graces me with the courtesy of a response. “Georgie will never agree.”

I narrow my eyes. “And? Didn’t you hear me? I’ve finally figured out how to repair my marriage.”

She flicks one of the pages and pins me with a filthy look. “Let me get this straight, dear. Last week, you found a couple to adopt the baby. Which we decided wasn’t in your best interest. Then you agreed to Reed being the baby’s father. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Now,
you
want her?”

I nod.

“Do you understand what we’ve done to your daughter?” she asks with a sigh. She’s been doing a lot of that lately around me. It’s damned annoying. “I removed Georgiana from her baby’s father,” she rages. “Broke the child’s heart. Isolated her from the world. Threatened her with a closed adoption if she contacts Sloane—”

“She’s with him anyway!” I screech, but control myself at the tightening of her lips and decide to play on her ego and pride. “You’re losing your touch.”

“Indeed?”

Instead of hurting her, she gives me a condescending smile, and I glare at her.

“There’s been a death threat against Georgie. A phony nurse went to her room.”

She blurts the shocking news in a flat voice. A death threat? From her look, I know she expects me to show concern and outrage on Georgie’s behalf. It isn’t inside of me.

With an exasperated huff, she refocuses on the sheet of paper. Flips the page. Pens another note in the margin. I wonder what deal she’s putting together, whose life she’s ruining, but I don’t ask.

“Your snit is unnecessary, Cassandra,” she chastises.

Since my release from the mental facility, she’s turned into the dominating authority figure I remember from childhood. Although she gives me whatever I ask for, she’s taken away whatever self-worth left intact after Parnell began his affairs, and Sloane threw me over for Georgie.

“Do you want to know why you’re expending unnecessary energy?”

Not really.

I nod. She wants to tell me why. If I want my way, I have to give her hers.

“Sloane’s daughter is involved.”

“Meaning?”

She glances away as if she’s not telling me the truth. How utterly ridiculous. Mother never dissembles about anything.

Clearing her throat, she pastes a smile on her face. “Once he discovered the threat on Georgiana’s life, I couldn’t keep him away.”

“He denies Bryn is even his,” I flare, a niggling voice insisting Mother is fibbing about
something
. Perhaps, I should contact him myself and ask if there really has been a death threat against Georgiana. For the time being, I play Mother’s game. “Also, he shouldn’t be anywhere near her if he doesn’t want his bail revoked.”

“As if I’m in the boy’s mind, dear. He’s always been the wild card. Uncontrollable. Willing to risk everything for her.”

Her
.
Georgie.

I hate her.

Mother’s brows draw together as if something has just occurred to her. Deep in concentration, she taps her pen on her jaw.

“If I get the baby, Parnell will love me again.”

She cackles. “The thought is charming. Doubtful, but charming,” she adds with an evil smirk. “Mr. and Mrs. Miserable.”

“Mother, please. I swear if we get Bryn, Parnell and I will be happy again.”

A long stretch of silence slides on before she speaks again. “What if there’s an alternative, dear?”

I shake my head, frantic at the idea she’ll destroy my life instead of fixing it like usual. “Parnell wants Georgie and Bryn.”

“And you only want Bryn,” she retorts with disgust and disapproval.

“I can put up with Georgie.”

A skeptical lift of her brow and she lays the pen aside to focus solely on me. “Suppose I give Georgie options? Give up Bryn or be disinherited and disowned. She doesn’t have to know
who
gets Bryn. If she makes the wise choice, she stays in the family and you have Bryn. I’ll find a way for Parnell and Georgie to mend fences without Georgie ever coming near you or the baby.”

My mind spins. Not only because Mother sounds…
calculating.
More calculating. Her mind is horrible, always adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing. If she stuck to numbers, life would be good.
Or
, if she subtracted me from her awful little schemes and just did it to everyone else.